April 7, 2008
From where I sit I begin to notice when
minutes will dissolve,
and time drips into grains of sand,
filling this expanse of whys, whens, hows,
this endless desert with no answers
to quench your thirst.

I am not asking you to answer
for your voice cannot sweeten
the solitude I seek;
you cannot turn the sand into sugar,
we all know this - and my distance must be all we have to suffer.

Here in my fabricated world
would you consider to slake my proclivity?
Do you sometimes wonder why
the caged girl still
smoothes her feathers back
and sings for none other but for the sheer joy of the surrounding timbre
her contented world.

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