Skip navigation

 

Copyright © 2012 Deborah M. Zajac. All Rights Reserved

This poem Mist Valley
by James Longenbach came to my mind when I came across this old photo of mine a few days ago.

At the end of August, when all
The letters of the alphabet are waiting,
You drop a teabag in a cup.
The same few letters making many different words,
The same words meaning different things.

Often you’ve rearranged them on the surface of the fridge.
Without the surface
They’re repulsed by one another.

Here are the letters.
The tea is in your cup.

At the end of August, the mind
Is neither the pokeweed piercing the grass
Nor the grass itself.
As Tony Cook says in The Biology of Terrestrial Mollusks

The right thing to do is nothing, the place
A place of concealment,
And the time as often as possible.

Nikon D700| Nikkor 17-35@26mm| f11| 1/60sec| ISO 200| Manual Priority| Tripod

 

Advertisements

A penny for your thoughts...

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: