Thursday, November 12, 2015

The Song of Burning Driftwood

Breathing on kindling does nothing 
until there’s a spark—
and when the flames are rising, 
breathing is nothing but the fire’s own intake.
Consequently, mistaking effect for cause
is the prime mover of ignorance
and the essential stuff of paradox.
Around & around & around
the driftwood circles in the reedy shallows—
until the current of intent transports the flotsam unerringly to sea.

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