EchoBy OneThumb

Find your way out no doubt or in again begin
Spaces wait faced in the dark no waste
Were there was here was always near
Sit down to see be quiet be friend the end


The RoadBy OneThumb

Whatever was else or less or more or even the sinister prospect of nothing left,
not this was anticipated, that there would be no one even to speak of it. Because all had passed over
to wherever they go. Into the fiery furnace to be burned to ash. Into the ground,
into mouldering skin and bone with mind the transient guest, with the physical again dominant in the dead flesh under the stones.
Was this the loved hand, the mortal "hand still capable of grasping..?" Who could speak to make death listen?
One grows older, gets closer. It's a long way home, this last walking.


For QuintellaBy OneThumb

He comes, she comes carrying, carrying...... A flower, an intense interest, a color...... Curious placed in a outer, an inner......... Ring of rounded spaces, spaces of color.....
Looked this was, they say, it was here...... And there--it was--it opened, opened doors.. It, see itself seen faithful to echo........ More than all or was the green seeming......
Back of it fragile shoots the way it was.... Yellow, banded together zigzagged across.... As a box, for it wants to touch...touches... Opens at the edges...a flower in a bowl.....






Back To The Square