I have just finished this long, long story,
logs running down the river, a huge tight rolling,
and the snow blizzard, the fury of blinding flakes,
Ketchum, Daniel, Dominic, names, on the road I read of,
and after reading the last word it certainly all lasts
like the last note of a concert, the meaningful
silence suspended in the conductor’s baton, in his
tense fingers holding the sky’s roar.
I am wondering how many life stories I plunged into
in this life, I like a pupil in them, in a sea
of many eyes.
Characters, plots, galaxies within galaxies.
It’s what makes me think about the illusion
that we are living just one life.
I have another story ready by my side, waiting
with its fresh stings of salt at the water’s edge,
on one of the many beaches I have left
that are still present with this
sea roar facing the growling sky,
dragging you in before you know it.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment