it seems so probably impossible that only yesterday, sunday,
came into being without me.
without the outer form of me me me
to let it explode.
today i explore what it may have been,
and what is - is that it was that.
that day of improbable possibility,
and that now - is past and passed
into something that feels like yesterday already.....
lately, time is lost to me as the sun sets so exquisitely within my sighted range.
A PLACE TO CRY, A PAINTING TO MATCH LYNN BRESCIA'S POEM....Lynn, if you see this can i quote your poem here??
Robin Ross, a painter