Tuesday, March 10, 2009

Author [ver 1]

propped on one elbow

outside the window
snow caught in the tiny pockets of rising air
of slanting air
of diving air

the intricacies of their flight
beyond the grains of a tibetan mural
beyond the digits of a chess playing computer
beyond the words of our last three years

i lay back down
hoping the ceiling won't get caught in my eye
am i the wind?
powerful and driving
creating vast patterns with glimpses of beauty

am i the countless blooming crystals
dying without a sound
without an inscape
without a sound

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