Monday, January 01, 2018

New Year, Alphington

The river runs out of time,
which is the source. 
A memory 
held in the body
not the mind,
the slow ease of pain
always below the surface.
The river is fast
and slow, new
and old.
Light, light,
the dappling of time.
The body is multiple
with surfaces, leaning in
to listen.
Where there is time
there is always music.

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