This is left

The sound of paws on a new lawn

 

 

A Look

Anticipating the snatch of a sudden grasp

 

A Spiral

Inscribed in the vastness of a shell

 

 

A Repetition

Cycling from the start echoing in the now

 

 

Love Pulling

Like playing puppies in the transition

of this time between the trap and the release

 

 

Oh you hard you tried to be caught there between the spark and the flame

 

 

A Missing

Like a regret not yet formed

on an isle of forgiveness, forgiving itself

 

A Direction

Outside of compass points

reaching to the unknown knowing, knowing itself

 

A Searching Look

So deeply into the eyes of another

where both live in recognition, recognition itself

 

 

Love Pulling

into and from the eternal

rising again into light, light itself

This is left

The sharp bark of a nearby cut

 

 

 

A Leaning

of a folded umbrella hanging

on a table in a dew covered start

 

 

A Clothesline

measuring the time between wash and fold

strung out like a hope hoping against itself

 

 

A Lantern

Shining from the wicked of past ways

swinging on a precarious hinge rusting, rusting against itself

 

 

A Lesson

from an unexpected space falling

into the hold of your hands open, op against itself

 

 

A Feather

fallen next to a table on the grass in a look

of a flower or folded napkin crumbled, crumbled against itself

 

 

A Meeting

of a new close friend never seen

like a phantom of thought, thought itself

 

 

 

Love Pulling

on the last days into lasting

of a fasting being and dying, dying against itself


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