now
i look across this life
under the glowing memory
of days gone by
hanging like a setting horizon upon
an endless turning sea,
austere aquamarines
hanging
like
a kite string
slightly slipping ajar
from fingers
uncurled
gone in the wind unto
an endless burning sky,
orange-crimson nylon dye
hanging
like smoke rings
always carried
in the breeze,
hanging like sacred smudge
auspicious tiny swirls
hang on the frayed ends of my clothes, little hooks
hanging
like
pictures of a special uncle
hanging
like
soft white coals of
incense
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