writing with light

When the photograph is a mirror of the man, and the man is a mirror of the world, then Spirit might take over.
Minor White

Sunday, February 22, 2009

Inbetween


Past the odds the dawn is breaking, the dusk is slipping. To the stillness of the eye a violin now swings in spiral. To listen and to whisper the chords aren't enough. Do waves of shivering light touch hands and sigh? Ask, if I may...with a child's smile.

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