Time flows, but never out of the present, <br />As if it were an impassable silence. <br />I whisper: <br />Speak, speak at long last. <br />My hours don't have a place of their own. <br />Next hour it's autumn. <br /> <br /> <br />=== <br />from www.trilogyofthemirrors.com<br /><br />Raquel Angel Nagler<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/awareness-40/
