(no subject)
the universe is old
the photograph is not so old
as the universe
we stand in a circle, holding hands,
atop a mountain, at night
the photo of our circle
is a blue circle icon
as the wind barks at us
turns us to sand to blow
when the morning comes
we'll be standing smiling at the sun
the photograph will the be placed on a shelf
among other articulations of fate's finger
brilliant, hollow, yellowing
as we turn to dust and disembark
perhaps we will arrive, in the end
the photograph is not so old
as the universe
we stand in a circle, holding hands,
atop a mountain, at night
the photo of our circle
is a blue circle icon
as the wind barks at us
turns us to sand to blow
when the morning comes
we'll be standing smiling at the sun
the photograph will the be placed on a shelf
among other articulations of fate's finger
brilliant, hollow, yellowing
as we turn to dust and disembark
perhaps we will arrive, in the end