Archive
02/07/12
Their Days
The days seem bewildered By my amazement at their fleetness, Suspend me, in utter perplexity, Not knowing how they escape so quickly And so inconspicuously, innocuously, As if each were an errant breeze Barely fluttering a tree's leaves Or a migrating butterfly's wings, When, indeed, each is an infinite epiphany, The beginning and finality Of the entire life of my mind, From the opening line To the closure of any poem of mine, My written history, one breath at a time. Tonight, in being's deepest recesses, I break into a deathly sweat — My years are counting down their days, Hour by evanescent second.
02/07/12
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