You thought of things as near-term,
Not willing to contest the islands of clouds,
The limits of boundaries,
I will covet this
As I do the spread of wings and those quirky illusions,
The handful of marigolds held up to the sky--—
The rock wall in its ruin,


It's only now that I see it,
The novel stuffed full of clues,
The flawed key to a lock,
All of them references that at once became weightless
Like the tumble of time--—
The last crack of light that seemed necessary
For the moment ago that was you.

11/20/2008

Posted on 11/20/2008
Copyright © 2025 Jim Moore