Thursday, October 24, 2013

Father Playing A Guitar

This smile I never saw before: as if the lips
Are keeping a secret to itself. It makes both eyes
Rise up at the edges, pushing the brows into
Gentle arches. Wide forehead is out of place
In this young body but the hands, the hands
Curve around the guitar and the fingers
Curl over strings in a most familiar manner
Such that I could almost hear the music. As if
Everything in this picture--the vines, the dog
Lying on the ground in a half O,
The wide, palm-shaped leaves, you--
Are wonders that I could see and touch again.

No comments:

Post a Comment