[The next B.N. poem—please enjoy!]
The Scent of Vinegar
for simple things,
a child, fortune,
you love a woman
much like yourself.
At night she prays
the whole house smells
of vinegar. She has been
rain. All night long your dreams
rise to the ceiling and evaporate.
By morning the cups
rattle more and more,
setting dyes.
B.N.
© to the author 1983-2010