Tuesday, February 8, 2011

The Silent Coming of Beauty

Desolation, emptiness
and the soft lull of the world
falling like snow

A moment later the drift of hope
finds me along that old track
where a fox squatted
unknown, unseen

And now I know
who was watching me
because we are never

Just the other day
my mother dropped in,
a flash of light in my peripheral eye
telling me that my footsteps
will fall where they should

and every word will catch
a breeze and move on to
the new mouths waiting to drink
the perfect notes

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