that morning the north end of the adriatic sea, looked like a scene from a monster movie, after the crowd ran away. venice started out that way, a barbarian army at the edge of a swamp. nothing much has changed an awful mist hung over the grand canal, as we looked toward a modern art museum. maybe it excited her to support men who might some day be known as greats. you never know. a carpenter might become a fisherman; a slave might become a famous sculptor, a plowman, a poet. and we had faith that sunshine would come back.
Blown Peony 2 it looks like this when the petals fall off. each day brings a new surprise. this morning i had to shovel snow. and shout hello to my neighbor. his new puppy came to visit. a puppy's full off play. fuzzy bundle of bounces. i made a friend. new friends are always so full of promise; you never know.
down on the tile roof, a little damp remains... tropical rain sometimes so warm, sometimes it plugs the drains. wet tile roofs, that might not, blow away... as stories go, some things you cannot say. maybe her last trip ever, you never know. i hold my mouth and think again. words choke. they will not come. stuck in my throat. (life without some pictures) we are taught. some words must not be said you know. some thoughts must not be thought. down on the tile roof, a little damp remains... tropical rain sometimes so warm, sometimes it plugs the drains.