Death finally has
a face
It is foreign and
familiar
We call her Mother
but not for the last
time
Because Life alone
cannot contain
a life
The anguish and the
tranquility
We suffer between
these hard contradictions
Like fradulent Father Time
which both comforts
and kills us.
« Out of Light | Main | Beginning »
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This is so very beautiful, Mark.
Posted by: Kim | 06/26/2012 at 09:33 PM