again--a day late...

something in the air and i'm not sure never sure
if it's too much or not enough.

i'm holding things near to me like wind and promises...
wondering, with great concern if either ever shows its face.

there are four lockets and i need five,
a center, just one more with nothing in it
but air that i haven't breathed before.

and no. no no no no no to you.
because i want a story and i want it to rhyme and then i want to sleep, dreaming of red pears in a wooden bowl...

because i have a dream that keeps coming back with her and i living in the tiniest apartment in new york--wind from the open window behind me kissing my neck, tea & remember whens and always, in every dream, a large wooden bowl~lopsided and old~filled with pears. with fat red bottoms and dark golden tops, pears haunt my dreams.

yes, there are pears, though neither of us cares for them.
but i can remember the scent of them when i wake up.
and i am searching for that bowl...