|02:37 am - sometime in 2004 after death and before marriage|
Falling down this hill, a shadow across my memory, where light flickers in and out, illuminating playgrounds and cemeteries, a graveyard of tears and poetry, sidewalks of skipping songs, drum a rhythm, beat a dance, think that the chair will support you, come round in this circle and show yourself beyond all poetry. I am more than these skipping songs, these duets on the sidewalk. I am the grass that sways on the hill, glowing with the light of many suns. I am the crushed grass, the dew-sparkled blades, the soft, yielding bed of green, the many and the one. I have died, been reaped and still I have grown, still I sway and offer my face to the sun, inviting death yet again.