This word unuttered unheard uncluttered by the burden of being; uncreated understood in the freedom of dreaming.
Inward spirals an empty thought void of being yet being all. Outward turns a waking dream awash with life yet already dead.
Once and never again is never enough. But it’s all I can give – it’s all that I’ve got. Take what is here, or not at all: I offer it once. Only once. And never again.
How much is enough?
Dark and dreary deep of winter feeds our need for feast of light; Old Man Winter a while yet lingers, but soon he is softened by summer’s herald. The weeks of waiting rewarded well with warming winds and winter’s end. The foe of frost is found this eve in silent vigil for sun’s return.