Seed

There’s a knowing left under the world that reminds me of me. I think it sometimes, this knowing, but it leaves soon thereafter, spitting nonsense into my memory of it being. The life it left always tilts my reservoir of love but never touches my lips up, never begs to begin. I sing, I dance, slamming it out unseen, but always tasting the wishing in which it began ~ image: Etrog in Space, 10-2016 

Popular posts from this blog

Am Israel Khai / עם ישראל חי

Paper Plane

The Open Window

The Difference between Inspiration and Impulsivity

Family Couch

Three Thumbs

From Pickles to Bubble Gum

Man, Woman, and the Arab Spring-board

The End of Being a New English Teacher