I remember words
forming on the way here.

They created a narrative
that built up
and came tumbling down
to reveal something lurking
behind the choices
disguised as a moment
molded by a wind gusting
through our soul howling
a dance or be discarded.

I don’t remember the words
but I remember them piecing
themselves together like stitches
holding together what’s left of me
looks back.

What I am made of
is ever-mending
and alive.

Remembering this
like an old wrinkled photograph
or an epiphany
even under the canopy of the past
drags along collecting time
and waiting for the
phosphorescent severance
that could be conducted
if only.


2 thoughts on “Driving

  1. Dr. Suesszues-Zen

    I have found, this is finding. finding is not finding, but found. I drive as well, i find. much like the words. we speak, or write. it is hard to tell the difference anymore, yet it is not. it is no difference, only speaking or written, there.


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