Feb/Mar 2004

Ripples in the rain pool,
provoked by falling autumn leaves,
these things remind me of you,
a dark soul among the thorns.

A fleeting whisper,
barely audible within humanity's collective scream.

Imbedded deep in the jagged splinter of memory
the figure of passing hours
moves in silence,
licks the serpent's tale
and counts the dying,
like poker chips.