wall lace

my dreams have moved
somewhere close to an airport,
everything is now grimy, noisy and faded.
and shiny things fly away,
without anyone noticing.


one day, soon
january frosts white
on wheatstalks young and green
eyes look into the sun
and realize
that they never knew camille


r o h i t -AT- m i n d s p r i n g . c o m