There was a
storm last night,
the one they had
been predicting
for years,
and in the
misty, moist rain
the survivor
draws a list
of valuables
blown away:
broken phrases,
unfinished stories,
an ordinary name.
But they tell her
its not done yet,
the storm will
sure return.
1 comment:
".../the storm will sure return"
And it shall keep returning till she realizes that the secret of all being and becoming lies in reaching out, in knowing that - i am the bridge!
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