a little mythology


once spoke

of my being a mountain



and thoughts - like torrents
pull

collapse


and I
the mountain

lay there



the sounds

like a stream


I see from a distance



a distance
(the distance)

which separates me from


myself



(the mountain)

lifting a pebble

one may be surprised to find

another pebble


and a pebble is a pebble
and it's there - it's a pebble

and there's another pebble
a small pebble
a big pebble
a pebble that is wet

a pebble next to it
(the smallest pebble)
also wet

and you lift it


and inside it

you once find a flower





and you listen to it -


the sound of dying
memories

of Masks
and little things


of rain

of stars we can't quite see -




the untimely manifestation


of shadows left

by pebbles on pebbles




when a pebble lifts a pebble.

eyes that carry




























poetry