105


another year passes,

more memories made,
more fade

new faces in my life…
smiling, happy

good times shared;
hardships overcome

the same questions though,
and the very same answers

another year older,
another year wiser
(so they say)

where has the time gone?

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102


silhouettes
and outlines

dancing silently
against white-washed walls
flaking with age

merry
in the dust,
figures drawn up,
flattened

unknowns
flaking with age

92


the standard timepiece,
measuring imprecisely
infinitesimal fractions
of a continuous moment,
binding every instance of life
into a serial masterpiece

while ever the tiny grains fall,
the hourglass to be turned over
… and over again

and the hands:
to tell the whens of our lives

№ 81


.               pairing our time
. .             with the slow, steady cycle
.               — winter, spring, summer,
. .             fall –; watching the world
.               drift in and out
. .             of shadow; from dusk
.               until dawn, fingers interlaced
. .             and alive
.
. .               in our now
.             we feel the tender
. .               burden of passion
.             and pleasure, the tumult
. .               of unspoken fears,
.             so clearly, so wholly…
. .               all so easily
.
. .
.
. .
.
. .            on it goes,
.               the ticking.
. .
.
. .            it reminds us:
.               every moment is ours;
. .            every shadow sees the light
.
. .
.
. .
.
. .
.
. .

№ 57: The Open Sea


   shifting sands,
       like tidal waves
  on a sea of stones
too fine to grasp

slipping through fingers,
        minds, time

    too fine to grasp;
 inundating all

     like tidal waves
    shifting sands
too fine to grasp

№ 56: Random 2


preposterous oxymorons
primed for the presentation
of prosperity
to the tiny few
who know the address

naked wisdom
streaks in plain sight,
but none look,
too embarrassed
to be seen taking notice

every while
any while
while here
while there
wondering wondering

№ 54


all the time,     now
flashes in the mist
— ephemeral; vestiges
of the nothing
birthing something
(the nouns) —
like Time’s Arrow
shooting through the mind’s
eye, pointed
lazily–this way?
؟taht ro–

flimsy
little
arrow
i question:
why so determined?
what’s the rush?