Saturday, January 28, 2012


I am continuous, but I do not continue.
I am walking along dim lighted aisles again; again and again and again.
I start and stop in one fluid motion. Breathe, break. Breathe, break.
I am not a whole. I am small contraptions, intertwined within each other; like clock work, spinning faster and faster until they become stuck. I become stuck.
The clock parts twitch, like stinging eyes. Little cracks and ticks, repeating over and over. 

Saturday, January 14, 2012

do not stand at my grave and weep

        Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft star-shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.
- Mary Elizabeth Frye