prescience and news from afar,

the hinterland of the human mind creates a place within

some space-

yours and mine and theirs and ours is

ours and if we could turn down that rumbling

covering those beautiful voices i might remember to

ignore those that put dark brown drip stains on my four white cups.

so i look to the spring and cherish the amnesia of this dark and

buried winter

in a cave

and i'm sure as you're sure

that had we time and a place within some

space, the coming spring might

bloom.

and as the primrose isn't on our level concious

of its influence on my dreams

(or of its own saturated beauty?)

this season will beget a song

that can't be covered by even the most

grumbling grey noise rumbling in this heart

in this cave;

do you hear it? do you know it?