Le paradis n'est pas artificiel …

February 19, 2008


This life is key
to what we'll open
looking back
from old age.
We live without

the throatless teeth
of past or future
at our feet, kept on
by liberating joy:
the rows of jars

sweeten with time.
There's always
more to be saved.
Pen and strophe,
key and note. Echoes

and echoes of days.

Posted by Delire at February 19, 2008 03:36 PM
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