The mute button doesn’t work anymore.
A moment’s silence is worth more than gold.
Interest compounds it into the solemn roar of the golden sun,
arcing across an unsettled October mind.
I languish as clouds cover her payment to me.
The moments don’t escape me, even at sixty miles per hour.
I’m surrounded by them.
As a child I used to feel them all the time.
But “feel” is the wrong word.
So is “see,” or any other sense-word.
Completeness? Dynamic and brimming,
they often bring tears to my eyes.
But ... quiescent, too.
Honesty completes the sentence the period is too afraid to.
Death doesn’t come; it’s already there, in every moment,
part of its very DNA, beneath everything, breathing, full of life.
Silence christens the sun. It’s afternoon.
I’ve forgiven her debt.
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Digital Art: Port Orford by yours truly
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