Present Past
a spell
called from a fragment of mirror
thorough time had long destroyed.
and yet a single shard
could subsume the world,
perform it with no sound
as fulgent as an opera.
such resurrection, how joyous,
even if breathed for only a while,
the past no longer a snaky highway of clocks.
a scent of tangerine,
a childhood meadowlark,
frissons from a strum of lost love-making,
redolent as a sonata.
here i am, there i was,
free of dilapidation, embodied in bliss.
here i am, there i was,
dwarfing the present.
this frail, swept place.
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Having finished the latest draft of my first novel, and finding myself unable to work on the second novel, I turn to poetry.
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