Saturday, April 27, 2013


our paths suddenly weave and spin,
constructing tapestries, webs, 
echos moving in the wind
toward sunlight's crown

we are each of us libraries, 
infinite pages left unturned, 
innumerable words left unwritten

with mortar and pestle,
mortar and brick,
we lay this fluid foundation, 
then hope our volumes remain intact
long after ash has flown