29 March 2008
27 March 2008
24 March 2008
16 March 2008
13 March 2008
In the pale ward corridor
The white tiles just out of hearing
Whispered, behind footstep or caught word,
Of ghost memory,
Of lost nights coalesced
In one moment, and time become rumor.
At the perimeter, in daylit velocity,
The stones are slant spines on the green shelf,
With spare entitlement sufficient.
10 March 2008
In the storm's small aftermath
In the wind-set twigs and branches
Fortune-tossed and telling
As the shaman's ancient bones,
I stood out of the moment
In future's skewed abstract.
What sun-lit crucible depending
From a morning sky?
Midway lost in willed illusion,
Mazed in self-deceit;
Then embered in rheum-eyed clear,
Letting footfall to the unmarked path.