Saturday, November 19, 2005

Hello, Phoebe

who are you,little i

(five or six years old)
peering from some high

window;at the gold

of november sunset

(and feeling:that if day
has to become night

this is a beautiful way)

e.e.cummings, "73 poems", 52
Actually, it wasn't evening - perhaps "if autumn has to become winter" would be more appropriate.