Sunday, July 29, 2012


Down at the lake, forbidden
From entering, stuck overlooking
The kayaks stately as swans
And garish as plastic flowers
Paddling through the dapple
Under the massive granite
Of a golden afternoon, one guesses

It's time itself that's timeless,
As if it were happening
As it's happening
When, as it happens, it's not
Happening at all, except
That vacancy perceivable
As timeless at the time.

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