Sunday, November 23, 2014

Numbers 29: In Writing

Inevitably turning,
we wax and wane
counter turn to the
ticking quotidian

Trumpet to the dark
and sate the door
enveloped in a roar

With glow slow grow
carve a moon in our core
then celebrate the fleeting
whole, smooth globed orb

to the tick-tock decline
the slice by slice gone
till we return  where we were

the one, the only, 
each day in its day
the remnants we take

into the again-gaping dark

No comments:

Post a Comment