Thursday, July 12, 2007

Jar of Seeds, dead life in me
Potential of reality
Shaken down in glass unseen
in order of the mystery
No one can see or smell or taste
the Light, the Wind, the Human Face
DNA and bones examined
never tell of trees in famine
Tell me something else instead
that breezes blow past former dead
and warmth that comes
from someplace else
still comes untold
and rights itself.

1 comment:

paris parfait said...

This is a lovely poem, which for some unknown reason struck a chord and brought tears to my eyes.