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the poetry of Charles Fry

post

2015–

defi

2009–2013

belle

2007–2002

dada

2002–1999

sundance

1999–1997

frere

1997–1995

julian

1995–1994

stone

1994–1993

17 August 2010

Bakery Square

I don't fully understand her past.
I mean, she never really speaks of it.
But I guess it still shows through.
In the way she carries herself.
In the moments of awkward silence.
In her delicate step on the bare hardwood floors.

I suppose we all change.
But she has most certainly changed.
I doubt I would have recognized her back then.
I may have passed her on the sidewalk.
Without even a second glance.
Without knowing she was really there.

But now all that is past.
Now we stand together.
Bound, as it were.
In temporal locality.
Sharing in secrets.
That only we shall know.

 each morning   i come in peace   with one final kiss   looking for you   castle in the mist   Bakery Square   dreaming of you   airport   black and white   It must have been a dozen years since we last spoke.   Trudging down the street.   one more day   my guitar hands   what a night.   Why did they need both the Atlantic and the Pacific?   as this morning's light   the king