Friday, January 5, 2007

Someone Light a Match

In the twilight the plum trees with their ivory blooms looked like the sails of a great ship. And they might have been, sailing north as the spring slinked over the land. We were spinning and spinning underneath them, and the fog rolled in nice and slow. For days, maybe, we could only see our fingers, except for the black eyes of the occasional piper and the demon glow of an old man's cigar.

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