five

petaled…

3 Responses to “five”

  1. why does the
    afternoon buckle
    up with longing?

    where does the ache go
    to die?

    how does loss make
    everything a mere
    memory?

    at which moment can
    we stop holding
    our breath?
    .
    20110520:0807
    y

  2. still holding mine, after this poem…
    happy Monday
    – Dan

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