This morning the green fists of the peonies are getting ready
to break my heart
as the sun rises,
as the sun strokes them with his old, buttery fingers
-Peonies, Mary Oliver

22 August 2008

Life

The smallness of it all.
Yet the bigness, I can not wrap my mind around.
Like a distant thunder,
only half of the story. Gone within seconds.
This brevity stretches on and on
blurring into all eternity.
But my ignorance is satisfied
by the knowledge:
There is no time,
only age
There is no death,
only life.

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