Auguries 3

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I harvest signs,

glean among wispy omens,

scavenge in pyramids and middens

aching to unwrap the unknown,

reveal the secret names,

unfold the silence.

 

I am nothing if not voracious for the real.

 

Auguries reflect

our faces

fragmented in store windows.

Barely recognizable.

Blurred and staring masks

passing.

 

Oh and then there was the black scarf

blown into my patio by a February storm,

winding itself around the bare branches

of the Japanese Maple

sheltering

the small stone Buddha.

 

I wake each day to miracles.

 

sometimes

she says,

she has nothing to say.

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Poem and photo by clinock

 

 

Card Project – Day 23 – Freedom

Day 23.  medium – collage and pen.

Freedom

No conditions are permanent; No conditions are reliable; Nothing is self.  Buddha.