Wednesday, October 31, 2012

What Was That

The trees retreat. A scrap of mind
Is a bird, a bit of tissue
Tossed from branch to branch.

Wings help. Words help.
But there's such a thing as being
Too small to negotiate open storm.

The blue bird tossed between
What was a thought, what
Was not a thought, was not

A perch a bird could grasp,
Fears nothing, fears it
Is the only growing thing,

Knowing it is itself forgot,
The lack that tumbles away.

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