Tuesday, November 11, 2008

Perhaps Because I Have Done This Before

Each moment contains
Some quality of the next
In continuum, in text
An enjambment, as rain
Tonight stores starlight
For opalescent fog.
In the morning, birds
Mutter in hedges,
Silence is
Broken by a barking dog
And this garden loses edges
To rising mist.
New worlds are
Made of this: calm uncertainty
That will grow
Wings, feathers, fur;
From this weather
Occur, live, be,
And roam the future
Of memory.

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