October 6, 2013

I dreamt of a lifelong sigh gathering weight in time.
Inhaling and inhaling.

It passes through the reeds of a nameless landscape
And the sound sometimes reaches me.

Touching the lips, a sound
to fill with breath–and its gone.
Such nuances are disembodied from facts.
A different kind of memory.

But were it a place it would lose something;
Some things, reaching for them, are further.

For to turn backwards would be to return
To the end of the sigh
When the weight was released.

But I didn’t know it then.

Some things, trying to find them, are lost.


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