sometimes I have the feeling of life
when time is ripe with destiny and choice
sneaking on padded feet
into the quiet corners of ignorance
a child framed by innocence
and crying out, tongue thinned and tight
careful not to trip over the words:
“Look! Look!” as the dying day consumes itself
in the bowels of our un-conscience
spitting itself out in tomorrow
all our thoughts, fears, and loves
rendered into the dust of memories
carried aloft by the changeling winds
reduced to essences, purified with light
and brought slowly to a waiting night on Earth,
layered and layered into soft, slippery humus
upon which I hear the tiptoe of padded feet
rising up to meet the dawn