not a pretty picture. not a good. not a bad. picture. but an argument.

Thursday, March 3, 2011


do the trees have memory
can they remember a year
can they pass me hand by hand
    to that place

              that place of innocence?

i wrote some time ago:

doesn't life sometimes feel like
a steady fall from innocence,
every beginning so transitory
it becomes muddied as we fall from it?

i have to remind myself constantly
that there is no real such thing
as a beginning or an end.

so then,
what of innocence?