Returning Words


These are the days of words that swirl and fly
lapping life’s debris and carrying it a while,
somewhere bright springs long weary years forgot
splash the mind with pictures from the past,
all day they spin in frenzied clarity
filled with the oxygen that feeds the flame,
words enough to fill a book or more,
some seeping through the bandage of the page.

The sentences turned inside the skull
are tumbling out into the evening light,
running like teardrops on the yellowing page
as though the dam of twenty years is burst.
Time has no length, its end is far and near
for dying’s time is tangled into chance,
tomorrow may last for years, or eyes too fast
freeze on a syllable .. one last gasping glance.


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