141

twigs... pebbles...
shards of glass...
even scattered,
suffice as nest.
.
.

140

perhaps life
itself was
the fissure.
.
.

139

messiahs,
if messiahs there were,
grew slowly,
had to be tended with care.
although he suspected
that any fruit they might bear
was already to be found,
full and ripe, in the hole
into which the seed
had fallen.
.
.

138

gently lifting the veil,
he discovered the obvious:
nothing had been hidden after all.
.
.

137

in spite of everything,
the sky always found its place —
even when scattered across the lawn.
.
.

136

silence too
was waiting
to be slayed.
.
.

135

needing something warm to drink,
he put an empty tea bag
into an empty cup
and let it steep.

.

134

the time had come
to let the world
dictate his vision

.