Friday, April 3, 2015


a swath of blasted dunes stretches the horizon
returns only a mirror of half-forgotten dreams
a beat that brings a stirring in the feet
in the lungs of the traveler before the road that was
before the awful emptiness that longs to be filled
the rhythm that may overwhelm its potential
wind dips and croons a missing melody just over the next rise
just beyond the next turn the future whispers
across the barrens where pale bones lay exposed
they augur missed steps beyond counting
centuries of treble clefs and accidentals
leading to one final phrase of joy and sorrow all at once

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