William Michaelian

Poems, Notes, and Drawings

Dream

I love the droughts in writing, the minutes that seem like hours, the deserts and barren fields, the dust bowls, the great depressions, the jalopies abandoned by the road like these hobo wayward notes. I love raindrops that take years to fall and then land acres apart, if they land at all. I love the peace of a dry well, the coyote’s howl, free for the taking.

 
Dream

The rain burned his hand. “Love,” he said, upon waking.

Poems, Slightly Used, April 7, 2009

Categories: New Poems & Pieces, Poems, Slightly Used

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