Wednesday, November 16, 2016

Runners of the Woods

Do our hopes deceive us? Will we ever know?
Snowdrops are enemies to all other flowers
Because they gave away whiteness to the snow.

Matter can compute, can be disappointed
As the moon in a fairytale once composed
By the conjoined material anointed,

By itself, of course, variously, as soul,
Mind, ghost, the thing that lives outside and inside
Alike and not at all, the hole of the whole.

Flitting through the gloomy forests of the brain,
These flowers, moths, inescapable scraps of mist
Escape us and give our brightness to the rain.

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