where love arrived
on the prairie that summer,
gallopping down the hills
on fourteen hundred hooves,
a lone wind-whipped willow
now stands quietly,
rooted in tallgrass,
silhouette dissolving
rapidly into the welts
of a scarlet-scarred sky,
broken branch fingers
pointing
towards the sunset
she left chasing.
About Me
- musafir
- "A man is the history of his breaths and thoughts, acts, atoms and wounds, love, indifference, and dislike; also of his race and nation, the soil that fed him and his forebears, the stones and sands of his familiar places, long-silenced battles and struggles of conscience, of the smiles of girls and the slow utterance of old women, of accidents and the gradual action of inexorable law, of all this and something else too, a single flame which in every way obeys the laws that pertain to Fire itself, and yet is lit and put out from one moment to the next, and can never be relumed in the whole waste of time to come." Possession by A.S. Byatt
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