Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter

Wednesday, February 18, 2004


Words so powerful they accost
my eyes, my need when I am alone
and you tell me how to imagine
your hands.
Words like heat, like rythm
built from the campfire
or the rattler poised to strike
in the foothills
of Yosemite.
I realized no sense of place
there then, or here now
except in the past,
so I say onward and upwards
and toward a journey which
is adventure, destination
known as passionate, peaceful

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