Questions of Ownership
but not necessarily to have
the price must be paid in full.
An experience of both cost and pleasure.
Full owner of my sorrow,
dark full face of my moon
turned away to
the small dots that look you back,
am I not here?
Under that faceless black moon
am I not even dark wind that lifts your hair?
Many truths coexist.
Many rivers run to the unfilled sea.
Many waters may be one or several,
all equally vocal.
All silent when they run dry.
In the child of our bodies
I see your arabesque of bones
Your dizzy hesitation that flees
to rigid purpose.
You and he, the moon, the beach, the grass,
and the rivers that run so endlessly
dwell and spring and
consume all here, so
where am I then?
In these combined relics and scars I own,
these snow white bones and sepia
distillates of time?
Photo: Question of Money, by anolobb on flick'r
shared under a Creative Commons 2.0 License