Wednesday, November 12, 2008

Left

The demands of your obedience pull you
out farther into the wilderness, while,
discarded, minutia of your other life
lies marooned, subject to the tranquil
sovereignty of dust.

I am your curator and
live among the monuments.

Deprived even of your voice, I'll
make my bed in memories and keep
company with your singular relics.

2 comments:

T said...

Perfection. I can feel what you feel.

Am I your biggest fan?! :)

Hugs.

Brandi said...

Awwww ...