Saturday, April 21, 2007


He heard the rustle of wings,

but that made no sense at all.

It was just a spring morning

made from sunlight

and wafts of wind,

just a day doing

what it’s supposed to do.

It made no sense.

His was a simple existence,

a small, softly-lit life

in this universe of moments

that modestly present themselves.

Why would invisible wings

be whispering everywhere?

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