Not between the proverbial rock
and a hard place, but between
the softer and the harder
impermanence: therefore,
everything’s improvisation,
the voice thrown against
a closet wall, into a room,
into the rifts between rock.
And each time, a slight echo
returns: little eddy
and reminder, little
reverberation—
The train in passing goes.
Light dips beyond the trees.
A hand, lifted in that slow-
motion gesture of waving.
[LAG-two-sources date=”06 11 2013″ url1=”http://morningporch.com/2013/06/159123359/” title1=”Morning Porch” url2=”http://yeosi.wordpress.com/2013/05/15/such-tender-emptiness/” title2=”thus: such tender emptiness”]