Written Experiment
A Day
A day is full.
That which can fill a day,
Fills a lifetime.
A lifetime feels as though a day.
A day feels as though a lifetime.
The light of day folds into the arms of darkness.
The day is filled.
A day, through a rubber band.
Encircling a grove of green.
The roots of an emerald birch.
The silver bite of frigid air.
The gleaming razor passes.
The taught amethyst ring falls slack.
The trunks collapse in the wind.
Engulfed in a burning chrome fjord.
The roots tossed aside into a shadowy pit, useless.
​
A day, through a potato.
The darkness consumes.
The damp, moist earth to touch.
The pressure loosens.
A rush upward.
The light blinds.
The scent of burlap fills.
The darkness returns.
A day, through an open book.
Light rises over the plateau.
The inky black rocks covering the sandy surface.
A trick in the light.
Or a story unfolding?
The dark stones ever changing.
The light vanishes.
A marked trail for those to come.
The sandy plateau returns to a dark cave.
A day is filled.
That which filled a day,
Filled a lifetime.
A lifetime feels but a day.
A day, through manifestations is filled.
