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

Saturday, March 13, 2004

Broch in the Wee-oors

Tomorrow you will be hidden
between fantasy whisps, seen
cloudy through haze, yet glowing
constant, at least for the time
I'll need your reflection over
these shadows...

But this morning as I look out
from my perch of a top step,
you are the silver globe
at the end of some intangible
twine, held ever safe by the
brightest star in the sky.

- Broch is the Scots term meaning a halo around the moon or sun. Wee-oors, well, the wee hours of the morning.

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