My father sleeps with an atlas,
Each night a vacation
To the Seattle opera
Where melody becomes his religion
Changing prayers of light
To soft, tenor cadences.
His bones thirst for Wagner
Ring Of The Nibelungen
Rattling the keyholes of a dream—
Lost in the splintered teeth
Of Montana mountains
He hears a symphony of light
Knitting the road ahead.
Share
Crying under a shower of rain makes you think the whole world is weeping with you. Standing under an Autumn tree makes you think the
I’m skilled at bottling up my feelings but I’ll burst if you shake me. one pull at a loose thread and I come apart at
Theres no reason for my tears, Maybe too many to remember. Could be nothing at all. Or just that one October , When you decided
