| This weekend I was in the city. And I thought often of you and the way I feel when we're together -- the way I feel when my head paints you sitting on the bench in the park or holding me with your arms in the dark of our apartment that overlooks the square. And when I see you sitting there or holding me, you change the color of your hair, your eyes, your sweater that I bought the day we went out in the rain. Blue, gray, green, brown, dark, brooding, crystal, glass. Breaking. Shattering. Falling. Crashing. I cut my feet -- clay feet -- and the image of you in the park or in the window or in your sweater or in my bed washes away. And I am left in the city -- in the rain -- in my head. Return to selections from i through x |