In the corner, hidden away in a bag of destinations
forgotten like so many random melodies after 2 am in a jazz room’s air
the wisps of memory collude in secret ceremony
the folds of the yellow page pressing with passion against one another
tightly embracing, lost in a satchel of serendipity
Moment, a momentary, a momentous
it is yet, at the bottom of a dusty trove, fragile with lack of use
too much the promissory, a collision of intentions from a time
that no longer fits the clock ticking
So leave it there, where a heart cannot be denied
where a soul cannot be found lurking
in a quietly closed resting place filled with invisible
intentional
forgettings
8:49 am
10 March 2011
