The other day, a ruined man
found solace in the hushed whisper
of an autumn forest.
Concerns of the flesh seem so
trivial and far away
in the instants in between moments.
A small girl opened up a book
and soaked into the pages
her whole self,
until the book was full of her.
In between the lines,
if you look hard enough,
you can almost make out the image
of that child unbound.
In the time given,
all or nothing matters.
Outward, inward,
it is what we are.
HG – 1995-2000
