Page 7 - Contrast1979Decemberv23n1
P. 7
ยท,
Black Print freezes.
White pages stare. No comfort.
My eyes can't hide frustration fore~r.
A di vine messenger beckons me
to pleasures outside four walls
with a weary tin can melody.
Through glass I see sparrows swirl
across milk and orange sun
oozing over their blue frame.
'1' his scene glints crisply for one second,
or hour, in tae corner of my eye.
An anxious mind can fuse into rock.
I kiss the window.
--Karl Bugenhagen
