Wednesday, December 31, 2014

to write the song.....

I sense it,

   treading lightly,

      poised on toes of dust.

Shadowed fingers
      reaching for my shoulder.

A charcoal sketch,


It is memory.

A squeeze, a pinch, a caress.

There to remind me, that all life

                                       is a ticking clock.

And each tick

A still life,

A memory.

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