I sit at a cafe alone at dawn
I hear the echo of dew upon the lawn

staring at my saucer I see numbers
numbers with no meaning in mathematics and time
they are not stars or sign pertaining to God
neither are they numbers to end a rhyme

they mean not love nor lore nor positions of war
neither are they cards of three's and four's

they could be pages of a book I wrote
with pencil by the stirring candle light
a memoir of the sand beneath my feet
of certain beauties borne beyond my sight

a code of things I don't yet understand
a binary pattern across my hand
fragments of the sun, the king of man
the gold of barley fields from which I ran

they are just numbers...

09/26/2005

Posted on 09/27/2005
Copyright © 2025 Joseff Marat