Last year a bus turned and rode a low cloud
over the edge of a precipice
leaving about half the passengers
in the cloud.
I suspect that the rapid flashback comes
to the knowing. Wrapped up in a fog
and falling—confusion must hover
just enough
to cover the quickened unquickening
which the aware and escaped have said
prompts the quick review. But, of course, how
can we know
on this side of the precipice? Still, choose—
how will you fall? Every vehicle
we enter will be abandoned for
another.
ahh, reincarnation. I'd like to come back as a dark pink crab apple tree.
ReplyDeleteFinally put down roots, you know?
ReplyDeletelol! I don't think I'd like to come back. I don't like the idea of starting over.
ReplyDeleteBefore I read Joh's comment, I kind of took you literally about the cars. It's true, really, every vehicle we enter will be abandoned for another.
ReplyDelete