Saturday, April 6, 2013


Birds are derived from the color blue.
The expansion of it, the height of the sky,
made it inevitable that life should soar there.
At the final dot of the Q.E.D., they appeared.

Time followed naturally from there.
The flapping of wings, as well as the baking of
pies (a process recently deduced
from the combined existence of cinnamon and apples),
logically implied a distinction between nows.

Our eyes catch motion in the air, and our hearts are
drawn upwards. Our aspirations inhabit a
timeful space in spaceless time.

Hope is born here, and though we may not
know our origin, it carries us on to our
destination. Which answers the same question.

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