. . .
we must leave
so slow
we never go
beyond leaving;
this is what the ancients
now call,
arriving.
so slow
we never go
beyond leaving;
this is what the ancients
now call,
arriving.
7.08.2004
Previous Posts
- burning four-word poems
- 11/12ths full
- moon caught in wrinkles
- old men
- . . .
- a whiskey sour
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- next
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