Wednesday, February 22, 2006


A splinter of God
might be named today
or Elizabeth.

When it dies
it forgets its name.
Who were you?

we ask. Weren’t
you God, last week?
If a rainbow’s

seven colors
refract through the facets
of memory,

shall we call
this splinter yesterday?
Do not speak

that name quite yet;
wait until I too
forget and may

be forgotten.
Until our fire turns
to splintered stars.

Stephen Brooke ©2006

Well, after posting something like Moccasin Snake, I had to reassert my esoteric artsy side, no?

No comments: