Jumping across the rife-struck riverstones,
Barely craving to be foot-dimensioned
Among street talk of the clouded crystal water,
Reaching for a grass flower,
That would be forgotten tomorrow?
Was it worthwhile
Leaning into the grumpy rack of clothes,
Desperately clinging to the remnant sandalwood scent
Of a life that once held them near for the last time
Rid of a coin-clad clue of an atomic cease,
Searching for a pair of ribbon strands,
That have surrendered their purpose?
Was it, with an ounce of risk, worthwhile
Flipping through those napthalene-infested pages,
Searching for the flair of ink strokes they housed once
Beyond the plains and shadows of valet-parked time
Among the skid marks of a hand
That had whispered its secret,
Gliding through those unsent envelopes,
That were never introduced to stamps?
Every lotus-fragmented part of a second
Every sky-draped expanse of an inch
Every neutrino-adorned thought of breath
That even the heart beat skips
And the air ignores.
Each. And. Every.
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