I dreamt of you
today
though I didn’t see your face
I knew
it was you
the number was seven
and it was bright yellow
I dreamt of you
today
though I didn’t see your face
I knew
it was you
the number was seven
and it was bright yellow
I’m sure you shielded your eyes from the unbearable light.
MEMORY: I’m seven years old and stung by a yellowjacket.
You’ve been so prolific… and all I do is work right now… (and sleep)… I hope to catch up soon…
meanwhile:
I love this little poem for Brian. And having been the victim of many a yellow jacket gang, I can identify.
Yellow doesn’t always mean a smiley face…
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