Monday, August 11, 2014

The First Strands

A tremendously mellow silver web
summer’s end signified
silver line rimming
night’s long lashes-
last of an owl’s wail.

And these tremulous strands
now suffusing my mane
the finest crystallofolia, interweaving
from temple to nape, tangling

first touch of autumn
emvermilioning the wilderness.

Reminder of life’s rebellious brevity
the ethereal drama unfolding.
a languor. a despair.

running out of time,
What if I disappear before comprehending
even a fraction of this marvellous universe?


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