The things I think I know are
only a partial reflection, a
blurred shadow
of the things to be known.
When the sun falls.
When the water drains.
I still only know this scent.
The warmth of a Rothko.
The sound of a Bald Man.
Unless my senses are stuck in
dreams, not waking, and
my waking reflections
actually dreams I’m making.
TAGS: DailyKaiya | Dogs | Water | Winter2016-17