Monday, June 11, 2012

The pass

A script slowly writes itself
on his numerous lines of wrinkles.
He is a log book kept by the universe.
He raises and waves his hand:
A flag amidst all the commotion
A sail reflecting off the sunlight.
His well being is one-legged
and he limps along in the race.
He is a symbol
through which everything will pass:
Living and non-living.

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