Time is a story we tell
To order the absurd.
I see nonsensical injury:
The handprint on her cheekbone,
Bruises yellowing like dandelions.
Why? What reason could there be?
Maelstorm cycles repeat into madness.
What can we do about it?
I do not know.
I look to the river.
Willows grow soft in spring,
And the ice melts again
Under ineffable blue sky.
Such it is;
Such it will be.
One day the river will flood.
One day dandelions will break the sidewalk,
But not today.
Today, we hope.
Today, we mend the bruise.
Apr 10, 2025
Apr 10, 2025 at 4:27 PM UTC
Time is a story we tell
To order the absurd.
I see nonsensical injury:
The handprint on her cheekbone,
Bruises yellowing like dandelions.
Why? What reason could there be?
Maelstorm cycles repeat into madness.
What can we do about it?
I do not know.
I look to the river.
Willows grow soft in spring,
And the ice melts again
Under ineffable blue sky.
Such it is;
Such it will be.
One day the river will flood.
One day dandelions will break the sidewalk,
But not today.
Today, we hope.
Today, we mend the bruise.
