Tuesday, February 15, 2011


Every moment splits in two paths:
what happens and what doesn't.
Some say the path not followed
could never have been taken.

I like to dream about that path.
A soul is standing there smiling.
She wears a gown of brilliant blue,
her eyes are living keys of music,
flourished with Scriabin wonder --
eyes that burn darkly, lifting
me to faith in possible time.

Copyright 2011 -- Tim Buck

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