Saturday, November 17, 2012

the World dies so slowly

and is reborn with equal tortoise speed

and your life is where you are and what's happening

all sense-memory and identity with the time

you've been allotted making up your whole being

the copper sunsets of spring shining over the beach

to the cliff edges as the salty air fills more than your lungs

or even the dark cold gray mornings of flakes of snow

whirling passed the window from which

you look onto the deep snowy morning

and all the faces and all the bodies you've known swirl

superimposed over your vision

and who can tell what is dead and what reborn

in the moment of this awareness...

Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.

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