Amazing the light a magnolia tree can love, And then set free Taken back by such clumsiness of catch and release As if to say, isn’t it always the heart that wants too little. These are the smells we get right before the fire, The ones we place faith in, The ones we think of when it rains.
She still works in those clothes, you know You tell yourself that by now you remember so little, She must have changed, maybe, even It didn’t happen. The way when afforded the opportunity to jump from planes In our mind, it plays back like a video Something only slightly real.
Responsible, as if life depended on it And so, you don’t speak like you used to You don’t run, or shout, that maybe all of it boils down to When your kid cries that the dog didn’t come home. But luckily, today, you found time to read Eudora Welty She was her favorite, When you look up at the space in the sky between heartache and joy You remember framed pictures The kind kept quiet beneath the lid of a shoe box Laying still, static unlike memory or grace.