Friday October 28, 2011

The first frost fades under a white sky. I’m noticing how at a distance even a sound like the banging of a hammer becomes a sort of music.

4 Comments


  1. SENSES IN THE MORNING

    Even harsh and disturbing sounds
    get transformed when anticipated
    mayhem fail to happen. A bright sky
    scuttles the first frost of winter, and
    from a distance the gecko-rhythm
    of hammers pounding on surfaces
    that need mending for the season’s
    turn, could echo Wagnerian cymbals;
    to this old ears, almost a tinkle from
    Duchin. All in spite of cold weather.
    I would have felt immensely pleased
    sipping my tea, save for the trill from
    the kitchen: Clean the chimney, laddie.
    You don’t want me to die coughing, do ya?

    — Albert B. Casuga
    10-28-11



  2. rainy afternoon fills with a beautiful oblivion,
    soft, silent mystery, the world is unsaid
    trees coalesce and dissolve around me
    individually wrapped in white sky

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