http://slow.writerscafe.org/starman496 The original writings of author J.P. Cedillo en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776048511 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 I met you as a child encountersfor the first time the brilliant sheets of seaand later tries to explain it to those who slake their thirst by delivering their noses downto cupped handfuls of rain.You say: "A million times a milliontimes a million times" to the heavybl.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/starman496/388884/ There was the day you were with me in the park-there were no benches forus to sitso we nestled together in the lap of someaccomodating tree roots and took turnsreading to each other from a book of poetry. The poems weren't love poems- maybe oneor two were- but we were in love, the.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/starman496/349497/ To the right: all of Manhattanin the soft yellow light, withbridges built over the waterand boats with little white tailsmoving slowly up the rivers. To the left: the miles of metalpiping and rusted out railyardsof the northern Jersey shore,million-dollar monopoly housesthat.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/starman496/260041/ --i want you with your back bent slightly over the red tomatoes ripening in your garden;i want you wearing one of those oversized hats with the big sunflower bonnet breaking into a million little squares on your work gloves that hot, hot sun (which blares so fiercely these days, doesn't it? was it.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/starman496/230062/ The night skywraps my naked bodyin a blanket of cold.It is cold as ever, really.Only you arenot here to help warm meanymore.I think often of onenightwhen I lay open-eyed andawaketo the cold.There was no sleepto be had and so I rustled out of oursharedb.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/starman496/230059/ the rain breaks unevenlyover the prostrate earthi watch the drops fall and get caught like wriggling fish in the warm glow of a street lamp;and from the drops, in theirsingularity, i can imaginethe sea--vast and borderless like theRussian hinterland;the foam sputtering sp.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/starman496/229990/ man trappedin his daily orbit.winter is just around the cornerand all his green pages-crumpled up in piles-ring the trash bin.he looks at the graying earth:the beaten grasses of the fieldsthe wind left alone in the roadthe river water all baked and burnt;looks at night: g.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/starman496/229867/