Thursday, June 18, 2009

Verse: Short, untitled zen-inspired items

A forest of stars
intensely contemplates
the dazzling serenity
of the freshly fallen snow

It may be
when I talk
that you won't
hear me
but later
when I am silent
you will understand

In the morning
trying to restore order
to an unruly bed
I shake the sheets
and the dust
of a thousand
spend and scattered
dreams unnamed
is released
into the air
like pollen
done with me
awake and alert
they seek someone new
to entertain
and enthrall
someone still
lost in the grip of
a solemn, solitary slumber

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