circles around me.
in me. tree rings.
choirs of bells shatter not
these windows laced with frost.
the scrape of metal on stone.
not exactly the red sea.
of doors closing
only to open again.
the magnetism of maps.
human atlas of sacred geographies.
the art of tasseomancy.
ritual. superstition.
of ceremony rather than habit.
the longing to stretch.
and clocks.
always clocks.
1 comment:
This makes me think of the passing of another year, all of its varying hues that have lived in the course of a year.
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