Wednesday, January 21, 2015

That road curves away
And the crossing is behind us
What was around that bend
Well, it’s still there, but we aren’t
I can’t see it, of course
And you can only guess
At how the sun, there, warmed the skin
And how the light breeze combed its fingers
Through the sheaves of your earthy hair
Why lament for water-carved canyons
And dried-up riverbeds?
Time is a map of choices
Can a compass needle, quivering,
Point everywhere at once?

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