We are caught here--the echo of a church bell
That parallels the night.
We are phantoms smoothing out the invisible hours,
Fathoms weighted down deep by the loss of years.
There is no reflection,
Nothing wasted in this fracture of time.

Yet there is rotation,
The pulsing of instants across a calm black sea,
And all of us searching for the frothy middle--—
The tender in-between of moments that trickle in
And revive us from our dreams.

07/23/2008

Posted on 07/23/2008
Copyright © 2025 Jim Moore