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Remembering Wild Whispers

By Gleason Pace

Cosmic muons
Voyage through my
Hand. It clamps to
An old wooden
Handle.
Now the black iron
Skillet is on
Red heat, and the
Tile floor chills my
Bare feet.

Flying words were wildly
Whispered in midnight
Rain.
But I don't remember,
(As I don't remember yesterday,
And I know I will not remember
Now)
And I can't find my notes.
I'm not sure, did I make
Notes?

I dump the trash out on
The floor and search through each
Scrap,
But I find no trace. So,
Surrounded by the spread
Trash,
I feel the universe
Yearning to know what it is.