Wednesday, December 1, 2010


What comes after the dust?
she asked in quiet tones
meant to be heard only by herself

What came before has been fulsome
and finite
the facts are known
but not the motives

Each lifetime measured in days
unless you were unlucky
to have died
before you developed memories
or merited photographs
and aching desire
of some One
to taste your essence

Pleasure is so overrated
knowing that you will disappear
the way you came
suddenly, without announcement
Promises peripheral
like the ribbons binding
the presents she forgot to give

The time before the dust
Was it eternity or something less?

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