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

Saturday, March 26, 2005


It's from still frost on every windshield,
haze over the moon hanging to the right
of a squared pine untapped through
a false Spring, we are waiting
like the thoughts of wild geese
interrupting sleep and lingering
till awakening.

I know it could have been the light
infused through its age, so that
the contrast against this morning's
grayest skies could be as noticable
to me as an old life to the new...

To my right, a white tiger dreams
of pouncing practice on makeshift
trampolines, then runs off to wait
for his daily ritual brushing
before my coffee.

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