Monday, May 9, 2016

16 toward the Omer

On her couch, wrapped in a blanket the colors of the prayer flags out the window,
flatness curved as the dimensioned world breathes its way through them, touching each imprinted black word
until it is whisked and whispered away, like soot, like us, eroded slowly into the spirit
that leaves with the filament of our lives, lives on with a new touch of radiance,
I watch the fading play of the tree on the wall, then turn the light on.

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