THE WEAVE:
Moonie rings
U’s doorbell, again.
She waits for U
to answer it…
"What is left but smokey skies, and not a Word to write? First Fire of the year, again. No arms to hold me. What kind of man do I really want, an intellectual, or do I want a fisherman? And certainly not a golfer. Why does his mind bring me comfort, and does mine do the same for him?"