Page 14 - flying stones
P. 14
the fathomless stillness
the fathomless stillness
between the last linger of violin
and thunderous ovation:
our pleasure.
the frozen pause
before bone teacup
shatters marble floor:
where we live.
a door about to slam jamb posts:
rocket’s flash not yet thumped
upon the wind:
aromas of unsavored delicacies.
we arrive just after the beginning –
we leave just before the end.
we are fragments.
we are shadows.
we are echoes.
remembering what was.
regretting what may have been.
