Thursday, March 11, 2010

Louder Than Bombs.

It's the sound of what must be hundreds of frogs that makes me visit a back patio in the twilight, so glad at accidental shirtlessness (there are no accidents) and sleepy-surprised at covert rain. There are warm drops on my skin as I hear pond music so much louder than my dreams tonight, music that disregards walls and windows, combines with the mournful cry of a faraway train (no match).

Not too many hours before, I was offered a twenty-spot to swim to the fountain in the middle of this water holding up the moon and lamp light, the water so aptly camouflaging these varied musicians. I ought to do it now that that hot moment has passed, in search of a memory he can't share, this hypnotic soundtrack so filling my ears and assuaging all fears.

And I do.

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