Seven wonders - one for each biblical day of creation.
Untitled - Adam has not been here. Naming
is forgotten in a glow of collapsing images.
Angel's occupy my distraction in gentle turns.
So gently, my heart moves easy from idea to
formless miracle - just at the other side of
broken, the pieces are made new and need no repair.
There, within a whisper sent - a pillow dropped
down a deep slow canyon; absorbing all echoes.
We're all tourists. Always. Look. I came to watch
you watching. Never sign the book. A name falls
forgotten; fluting across invisible
tracks left by bird song. I am here I have been
here and the worn down trail has witnessed
no journey before this one. Now has precedence when
a child is present. Your new footprints;
they'll leave the old path
untouched; renewed.
Our breath, scarcely discerned in its shift over dust,
travels light, just as light's continuum on and up while
heart and throat bent back to cast a gaze and witness
dark flocks moving as a single-minded ribbon. Adam
has forgotten to spill over this moment; just short
of Paradise's toll through seven days. Something pressing
arrived on the eighth. Words fall off; can't reach it.
My son wide-eyed; speechless.
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