My green Volvo perching in pine needles
we make it through the clearing.
The uneven rock greets us
while the boats pass by
trying to make out our figures,
but seeing limbs in all the wrong places.
It was still winter.
Do you remember that?
We thought it was warm out,
but it was just the sun that we hadn’t seen in months.
Your jacket cushioned my head.
We thought the boats knew.
Sep 17, 2012
Sep 17, 2012 at 12:05 AM UTC
My green Volvo perching in pine needles
we make it through the clearing.
The uneven rock greets us
while the boats pass by
trying to make out our figures,
but seeing limbs in all the wrong places.
It was still winter.
Do you remember that?
We thought it was warm out,
but it was just the sun that we hadn’t seen in months.
Your jacket cushioned my head.
We thought the boats knew.
Request permission to use this poem