Doors /Poems

 

Millstone Grit 1 Rain in the wind … the three children coming down the brass slide I want to tell you they’re fine, the children,… miss you, knowing the impossibility of ever communicating anything it’s so irrevocable… The wind is icy -snow- and in a few days it’ll be Christmas our last in Lima, sunbathing and swimming,… block after cement block of niches, rectangular hives, and the coffin-bearers staggering and sweating in black suits the mason cementing it in, no room for your words:
	you were to me the blue dusk and the smell of summer, music that seemed to come from nowhere
I turned, left, hurried through the dusty streets to the car and never went back Cold hands clutch mine, I open the car-doors,… full throttle in third up the grey hill in wintry dusk      David Tipton
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