In the early hours of the day, before the world wakes up, it is surprising what comes to mind, or comes through it.

Clouds ripple, sand in sky.
If I write there,
Or make pictures in the sand,
Will the tide come and wash it clean?

A fresh start, smoothed brand new.
If I tread there,
Or some creature makes its trail,
Will it be as though it didn’t?

This entry was posted on Tuesday, April 5th, 2005 at 7:45 am and is filed under abarefootman. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.