Wednesday, April 18, 2012

Sadly, I passed away before writing this sentence.
Under cascades of cherry blossoms,
in curled around the base of a willow,
my ears still ringing with the sounds of a distant lonely big-jazz band,
a silly smile perking up at every flourish,
and listening forgetfully to the growth of the grass,
straining beneath my weight.
This garden lasted for aeons of distance,
turning hazy at the very edges of perception,
claiming chuckling dominion over a flat earth.
The bird song is lazy and carefree
the uncertain winds would pick up and take off in one direction,
then another
tousling my hair in query: "Do you know the way?"
If I did, would I be lying here?

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