Some seek the omniscient,
yet even stars die. There is no
I am on, not a race, but a voyage,
swaying, tranquil, sharp, teeny, huge,
redundant—and full of surprises—a snap, a glow,
like a blue-eyed stare
from a black-and-white portrait.
A journey that weighs the ancient
and the now. Not apathetic,
Savoring the bite of cheese,
the scent of clover, a kiss—folding
them into time’s handkerchief, tucking
them away into a pocket of my mind
to hold, till I become a memory, too.
Do I have things to do? Oh well. Jane posted words from the random word generator, and of course, I couldn’t resist.