A Moment Alone

For you, my friend,
I record the moment alone:
that which defines is here,
mine until it has flown,
a restless shade that
seeks new clay.

I have a window
and a door, four walls,
worn mats, a floor,
each as dear as anything
that�s real, as any song
I�ve known.

My thoughts caress me
with blind fingers:
they pause and cool
like blood upon a stone,
nascent still a thousand
years from now.

November 13, 2006

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