The black dot trembled. The dot of life. History I could see in your eyes, dust raining on my arms, those arms of fire now lost in time rusty wings are to become. The black dot quivered. The dot of death. The same old wind carrying us both into the whirl of seeking, spiraling cries
Category: Flashes from the flesh
nothing is left but dancing with the willow tree beneath the wings of nightingales the space of tales for butterflies; a breeze I crave to be. becoming one one with the air an unexpected dissolution of my flesh its holes, the empty space in every atom of my body the I am, the being
A twisted careless thought curled back into the middle of my mind. An accidental consequence of someone else’s solid truth, a radiant silent reply, a whirling wind, the dust of scattered memories brought up. I wish I could have held it – a kite I’d never flown. I wish I could have kept it out
Unfold your heart like petals on a peony.