Shadows

Do you ever have one of those days when you're going to a fake wake and a Wallace Stevens poem gets stuck in your head because of that, and then your roommate starts rolling a piece of newspaper and you think, "So you've had that poem stuck in your head too?"

Then you realize, probably not. But the fact that he made a flower out of rolled newspaper... Maybe.

I think winter has less to do with temperature than it does with longing. Or reaching. The same could be said of Summer, but less accurately, I think.