Saturday, January 23, 2010

When It Happens (rough draft)

When It Happens

The wind arises
when we don't think.

Our memories are shards
of glass, overcome
by meadow's dew,
the petals' fragrance
suspended over our reflection.

What I could be
is more than enough.
I am standing over
watches that have worked
out of time.

I have lost the moment -
I am everywhere.

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