She was the spitting image of Joan
Baez,
and
I knew her and I loved her.
The
sound of the redbird was sweeter,
the
sky was bluer, and water
and
my thoughts were as clear
as
the music in which we lived.
And
oh, the grass was dark green
and
a bed upon which we lay our thoughts
beneath
three-masted sailing clouds
or
the quiet gaze of the moon.
It
made all the difference,
like
a red wheelbarrow glazed with rain.
Do
you know what I mean?
Can
you possibly understand
what
I mean?
~William Hammett
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