The Palm at The End of The Mind

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    by jonathan.aperez

    Created 7/23/07

    At four-fifteen everything was different,
    The leaves stirred, and everything shifted.
    A million gnats- blue and silver- took flight
    Meshed in a nebulous dance in the hollows,
    And even now amidst the decay of overgrown azaleas,
    Bending rows of peonies, prize brown geraniums,
    Not even the breeze can spell it: she is gone,
    And nothing is the same.

    flying is learning how to throw yourself at the gr, and miss