Tangerines
It’s a philosophical thing.
He likes
George Wasouff,
apricots and quatrains.
I like tangerines.
I could see where
he was coming from
but even he
doesn't remember recipes.
We wrote volumes with
a raised brow - a sideways glance.
Intense communication
that opened doors,
(some stripped by weather)
webbed - musty like
a grandmother's cellar.
We laughed on the edges
of lightning,
the languages
of fire and ice, writing lines
forged with interpretations
that desire more
than probabilities,
less than conceived.
Deborah Russell, 12/17/03
Baltimore, Maryland USA
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