Temple garden

I love the quiet.

That moment of peace just before

the sounds of morning ritual,

water on tile, in the basin, boiling in the kettle

there’s birds trying to spread the latest in predator gossip, passing through on their way, or the how you doing gorgeous


it’s calm before the storm

in a moment of silence

ticking hands squirm forward

driven by gears, powered teeth

one minute we’re dirty

in several turns we’re clean

the story happens in between moments

pressed into pages, floral decay

moments preserved later found covered in bits of green and black

pages no longer readable

missing letters

and creating new sounds

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