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

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