Saturday, February 26, 2011

All this change we speculate
All the eyes we see through
All that we absorb to become expectation
"Is this where it is?"
All we script to be...

But we must always come back to the unmediated
The moving sand bar collapsing beneath our pruned feet
And though the past is built dune, gathering grass here
And trees up further, belies stability
In the light of our continuously rising hopes coalescing above our heads



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