 |
|
 |
||
Plato's Cave
|
 Any second now
I’ll stoplistening to myself talk and pay attention to the birds and buds, that are saying something. The rosebush shadow sharpens more each morning against the stucco wall. In another week or two I won’t be able to distinguish substance from form, roses from engravings by the sun. Maybe this is what Plato was referring to in another arid country: our picture of the world seemingly more vivid than the world itself. A red-breasted robin colors my deliberation, alighting beside the red pyracantha berries he loves to eat as much as I love to watch him eat. |
The content of this website
may not be reproduced
without written permission from the individual author or
artist.
© 2006 Santa Fe Community College