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