A Secret Passage and a Cloud Covered Moon


In the back of my closet is a secret tunnel.
It’s a passage meant for seekers,
Fizzing, bubbling, and spinning down through the quarky nuclei of time.
I often watched them swimming towards that nano-second slit.
Not me, though; I had too many here who loved me, or so I supposed.

And I was dizzy with life, 
Smelling horses and leather saddles,
Smelling dry timber and wet growing twigs,
Smelling pine needles in the early morning.  
And I was afraid of the dark.   

I carry an inner lamp these days, with some crumpled money and silver coins.   
 There’s a cloud covered moon tonight I am told,
And there’s nobody knows how deep it goes. 
And I'll go along with the ride.
April plantings in Central Parki 036

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