rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,

Reset Seventeen, Day Twelve

Saturday the hours got away again, as hours do, and the day flew after them, as days do. Night arrived and hid all but the electric lights, the moon, and two bright planets that I could see. To me, it's all a blur though. There was noise for a while, but it is quieter now. Not nearly silent, as on the forest edge, but distant and intermittently withdrawn, the town breathing and sometimes groaning in its sleep. In those moments when there are no sounds of cars even far off along the freeway I think of apnea. The place could be dead, might never come awake. Then maybe a dog barks and I too can breathe again. Not yet. Maybe soon, but not yet.

Sunday Verse


by Linda Gregg

There is having by having
and having by remembering.
All of it a glory, but what is past
is the treasure. What remains.
What is worn is what has lived.
Death is too familiar, even though
it adds weight. Passion adds size
but allows too much harm.
There is a poetry that asks for
this life of silence in midday.
A branch of geranium in a glass
that might root. Poems of time
now and time then, each
containing the other carefully.


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