studio memo

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

impossible desires. 

  

The air was moist and pungent,

sumptuous, receptive.

And the raw brown earth had been dug out 

to make a cliff that they two climbed 

to a place above.

shadow on 270 Concord