Sunday, April 03, 2005

Spanish Moss

Play the podcast (downloadable audio file)


Braving the night,

the spoils of dreams are sweet --

something untoward in the light & dark

of breathing –

I was walking on the beach;

storms crouching down

in the form of relentless fog

or doubts – and certainly

you must have felt yourself overtaken

by me, by

the splash & grit

of salt and sand

on a pillow once shared --

the imprint of that dream

is still pressed onto my cheek, but

only for those first sad moments

after opening my eyes –

not seeing you, but sensing you still

after all these years…

if I could give you a name,

I would – if only to control

the mad tide of sadness –

and I ask you – how does it feel

to be not one, not two,

but a multitude

moored in one solitary mind?

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