Oh wind . . . where does the time go? does it float gently to the tree tops, for the birds? Do you blow it softly into deep places where caring and empathetic eyes may recall it with deft illusions and symbologies? or . . . in the haze of horizons to find the ends of forgotten anonymity? Do these times know one another in the end, atleast? In obscuirity and lost credibility imperative dates now crumpled and soggy with last week's newspapers - sidewalk scattered headlines. Alone in the midst of endless ends But, with worn out times together . . . atleast they'd have a friend.
wow... really good. it's even more impressive that someone so young could write so poetically about the passage of time. well done. namaste, doug
