Moving further down
the muddied roads,
along the tiny villages
of water, the memory
drips with secrets.
Every reminiscence
cups drops of moisture
at its center. Filtering
into the thinnest gullies,
each memory’s warm
liquidity dissolves image
after image, lovingly,
from the inside. Until
one night, the past stumbles,
and the future rises, like
a manta ray leaping for the moon,
like a clear word sung tirelessly
all morning, like
breath into prayer, like night
into morning, loss into gain,
eternity into
eternity.
Copyright Joseph Anthony of the Wonder Child Blog