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

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