A trout-colored wind blows
through my eyes, through my fingers,
and I remember how the trout
used to hide from the dinosaurs
when they came to drink at the river.
The trout hid in subways, castles,
and automobiles. They waited patiently for the dinosaurs to go away.
(Richard Brautigan)
More Poetry from Richard Brautigan:
- I Live In The Twentieth Century (Richard Brautigan Poems)
- A Boat (Richard Brautigan Poems)
- Autobiography (Polish It Like A Piece of Silver) (Richard Brautigan Poems)
- Hinged To Forgetfulness Like A Door (Richard Brautigan Poems)
- Gee, You're So Beautiful That It's Starting To Rain (Richard Brautigan Poems)
- All Watched Over by Machines of Loving Grace (Richard Brautigan Poems)