The earth is a tent,
\nunder which,
\nI go on,
\nmy life disappearing into sentences.
\nCracks in the hard ground.
\nThe diaphanous fog of the air,
\nan echo calling out.
\nI remain after the leaves fall.
\nDay dims to darkness,
\nthe storm passes.<\/p>\n
One life at a time
\nsays the world,
\nas if life becomes a thread,
\nthe plaster and walls of the next.
\nAs if love vanishes into stone
\nand music is silenced.
\nIt goes on,
\naccepting the seed
\nof its regeneration.<\/p>\n
Waiting for the passage
\nof the cold.
\nThe dreamer to wake,
\nhands to open.
\nWater in the soul
\nto turn to blood,
\nand the heart to beat again.<\/p>\n
Trains go on to the next station,
\nships move toward the horizon,
\nplanes lift into the sky.
\nI see it changed and glorious
\nwith sun.
\nLife shaking off its slumber
\nand coming to the door,
\nknocking,
\nuntil the dead answer,
\nlaughing.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
The earth is a tent, under which, I go on, my life disappearing into sentences. Cracks in the hard ground. The diaphanous fog of the…<\/p>\n