All That We Knew
the size of the hand
does not matter
it is the fingers that
fill the empty space
between your god and
the impeccable design of a
successful journey
that breaches the murky depths
and then drowns clean again
the right
the wrong
insignificant
delusions of grandeur
it was my scrupulous eyes
that robbed me blind
all of those moments
lost and beautiful
turned to stone in an instant
my petrified history
a frozen web
of imagination
a fortress
that guarded from me
the pentacle
of truths
that I somehow
forgot
as though it
were a dream
that just kept slipping away.
Copyright © Kristen Good | Year Posted 2007
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