Sunday, July 17, 2016


We wondered whether we could push 
through the dusky silence of the mountains,
an old song stabs at the corners of the evening.

In the folds of the hills we read our fault lines. 

Desires, like distant echoes, ebbed and flowed
like a dead melody over the vast expanse 
of emptiness

Its time that returns are planned, some bags are packed, 
some silences affirmed.
Its time for the awe of wonder to dig deep within.

Its time that the eyes see, accept the 
changing proclamations of time

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