Friday, August 13, 2010
Night is made of quiet, the day to darken.
I prop my heart open with a pin,
Set a trap, capture all that comes in.
A question always lingers,
Why can’t I hold what passes through my fingers?
I sit with the Self that lives within,
Sit with the persistent Why I Am.
A storm bursts flooding mind and skin,
Liquid light ever raining,
Oily thought, rainbow on pool draining.