As I write, each line reaches for memories

lost, fallen beyond the edge of the world:

kamarupa dwelling in infinity, fading


when my lines do not find them

and my words fail passion and desire.


Eons, lost pasts. Which of them

could dream my frail dream of this

verse? Which, thrown


across the fabric of time, could make

nothing everything?


◄ Who includes diversity...

The Door ►


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Stephen Gospage

Sat 1st Apr 2023 08:51

A fascinating poem, Chris. I can feel the effort, the pain, of searching for that piece of inspired verse, trying to drag up memories.

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