my next thing, maybe
a story plate from my little naive banquet display...
with a poem written, lived years ago..
A Place Above
It was youth, caving
on a rise of plateau
late on a summer night.
Stars were out.
He brought a tattered quilt
that held more promise than the tryst.
The small trees were ragged too,
twisted in dry yearning
and seemed to cry out their
The air was moist and pungent,
And the raw brown earth had been dug out
to make a cliff that they two climbed
to a place above.