Sunday, December 18, 2011

apricot sun

the distance
of time, like
the smell
of memory are
there, but not
there, in your
hand, though
empty with
palm up.
the beginning
and not
yet the end,
though coming
is all in
front of you.
complete
like the apricot
sun that
you drive into
on your way home
from where
you were.

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