momento fragmento
when the sea is in the sky
and waves murmur through my eye
to weep upon the music pure and quiet
and nature is revealed as the real poet
sing the sleep of wide awake
ponder which road to take
to the hoard of real fools gold
where the truth about truth be told
and where that wool wraps us linger
blessed by the poet’s finger
brailled upon the lines of life
be they death or sharp as knife
pinioned moth in the collector’s drawer
covered in dust and faded with awe
what web of words did this to me
entrapped in death the life of poetry
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