we used to dream the biggest dreams we used to dream the biggest dreams

Photograph

It was Sunday, Sunday with long stares at the ceiling and aching joints. We pulled over, slowly, the blackberry shrubs dragging against the side of the car. While I tinkered away under the hood, you stood quietly admiring a golden bird with a long, crimson tail, as its song rose and fell over the river bed between the mountains. I should have looked up, I understand now, as the summer is over and we talk over the phone from opposite sides of a dark continent where the mountain tops have begun to glow white. I can’t remember the last time it was Sunday anymore.

It was Sunday, Sunday with long stares at the ceiling and aching joints.

We pulled over, slowly, the blackberry shrubs dragging against the side of the car. While I tinkered away under the hood, you stood quietly admiring a golden bird with a long, crimson tail, as its song rose and fell over the river bed between the mountains. I should have looked up, I understand now, as the summer is over and we talk over the phone from opposite sides of a dark continent where the mountain tops have begun to glow white. I can’t remember the last time it was Sunday anymore.

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January, 2010