Thursday, June 22, 2006

Poem: Zen Oleary

[image source]

It's dark and
I can't find my face.
Did I leave it on a canvas
somewhere by accident?
Last night was filled
with the passions of owls.
Now it's snowing
wonder in my soul.
Dawn bleeds into me
playing its morning flute.
I tremble without my face
but oh, what a trembling.

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