Here is a little musing I had after lunch today. It was inspired by thoughts about what happens to a poem after it’s written…who ‘finds’ it, what do they make of it?
There are barriers between us-
Time and space
Disconnected bodies
I wonder when you will exist
ang you will question if I ever did
Will these shapes running across
a scrap of paper hold any meaning?
Or will you find decode a digital cache that miraculously survived
the storm
before your dawn?
The illusion of permanence in a temporary world of
already forgotten
inventions and incantations.
I am caught in a march of time
into the invisible future of
your reality.
Angele Toomey Poetry 