Friday, February 15, 2008


He stood, wobbling, before me.
He spoke of opera and far-flung places.
His tiny, leashed dog leapt up my legs.
I wondered what story brought him to the cathedral doorway.


Anonymous Anonymous said...

I like the mystery, the questions this arouses in me. Especially curious are the numbers.

So happy to see you back, MB, hope everything is well.

2/15/2008 2:25 PM  
Blogger Bitterroot said...

Thanks for the visit, MB. I've been enjoying listening to The Heard lately.

2/15/2008 2:55 PM  
Blogger leslee said...

Yes, very mysterious. What story?, indeed.

2/15/2008 4:46 PM  
Blogger Dale said...

Very deft. ...So nice to see you!

2/15/2008 7:30 PM  
Blogger Yes said...

This is a new voice for you, indeed!
--I like it--it takes me somewhere else...

2/15/2008 8:17 PM  
Blogger Lori Witzel said...

And I imagine this in response:

"She stopped, a young oak, a tree-spirit.
I was compelled to tell her about my travels, the opera.
Sascha leapt at this dryad while my stories poured out; then, alas, she was gone."


2/16/2008 6:56 AM  
Blogger Zhoen said...

I could never tell
how factual his stories
still I loved to hear.

2/16/2008 7:39 AM  
Blogger robin andrea said...

Stories of hunger and winter, need for a bed and a place to warm his hands.

2/16/2008 7:54 AM  
Blogger Fred Garber said...

Wow! This short gem was worth the wait!

2/17/2008 8:58 AM  
Blogger Sky said...

curious about the words and you. hope you have had a good 2008 so far.

2/18/2008 10:09 PM  

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