I was paradoxically pleased to see the broken bottle littering my walking path. Because I'm aware most images from my wine country walks have been devoted to what gives wine country its reputation as a beautiful landscape. To see this bottle on a Sunday morning implies some unknown tragedy--a fight? a gesture of despair? a raging drunk?--that happened during Saturday night. Sure, it could have been tossed out from a passing car but that's not as pleasurably fanciful. Thus, I'm reminded: images can be more powerful for what they evoke rather than what they present--this, too, is a poetry lesson.
[untitled]
Sometimes, it becomes
impossible to
bottle
up what colors
our fragile
lives
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