By Mark
Bishop
Somewhere between the
hands
The roads
The calendar pages
The slippery grains which
count the ages
I find
That the yawning, lanky
yellow line
Stretched across this
ribbon of time
Tough a friend more loyal
than breath
Makes not a mark upon my
thought
Instead my mind holds to
this:
That once every star sang
of heaven
Once I bathed in the
ocean's waves
Once I wept in the rain,
in the bitter cold
That once we laughed,
embraced and said farewell
Oh more precious than a
thousand more dashes on the pavement are these to me
Though dashing suns shut
the door you see
When I wring this life
When I pour out my
memories I do not find a steady stream
Only drops
Only moments
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