Time is the web of filtered perception from which we dangle.
Gravity is the clockwise sentinel, ever vigilant.
This moment is the colour of contentment.
This is the symmetry of peace.
You are the God of Lost Buttons and Abandoned Coins Of baby Dew Drops that fall unnoticed. Of Auburn Leaves that gather in the corner Of a forgotten road. Of Holes in Pockets, Of Barely Audible Whispers, Of Opinions mouthed but not voiced, You are the God of Benevolent Dreams
It hung in the air suspended by its own gravity
Followed me into the coffee shop
Cut in front of me in the supermarket queue
When I got home, no doubt about it, it was there at the table,
Waiting patiently, cradling a question mark
Yearning to be accepted in all its jagged edges
Insecure about its clichéd origins
But certain of its innate swagger
Its syllabic wrap resounding in my ears
Rolling around on my tongue
Pondering connotations, associations, discerning choices
Compelling me to inscribe
Breathe air into it.