July 25, 2019Poem
The ring.
naturecitymemorytimeloveidentity
The ring.
It is a small piece
A splinter
No more than a shard
Barely visible
In daylight
The sun bending
A parallax error
Created in
A teardrop
Dust is a boulder
Rolling down a mountain
Can you count
The fairies on a pinhead
How many souls
It will take
To fill the Albert Hall
Such a thing
As this
Is no wonder
Next to a memory
Carried on a finger
Weightlessness
Lending itself
To interpretation
With every kiss
A wish
For something better
Perhaps it will
Be more than
Ornamentation
When it holds
A little piece
Of purity
In commemoration
Of my belief in you.