writing to know, knowing thru being, being for writing... this is me, writing about the one thing i know, which is myself... and even that is sometimes a mystery...

Sunday, September 18, 2005

autumn song (sung family-arity)

wind sweeping hair about my cloudy eyes
as i hear echoes of childhood autumns in the corners of my memory
and i smell my mother's hands in my fingers,
so like my father's,
which stretch out to grasp this fleeting feeling that accompanies the waning day
the sense of life on my body and the weight of time and measured breaths
a filling for the lacking and the missing
which accompanies the shortening days
and the sinking sun in the trees reflecting orbs into my dimming eyes
while i fall into autumn's cool embrace
and allow the breeze to wash over me.


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