Autumn Tides: Part 3

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The record of times shared
is silent in separate drawers
and hollow texts both voices fled
and frozen pictures, contours
of our own Pompeiis.*

The record of times shared
is blown on interpretive winds,
from Dante's first circle,
surfacing for brief manifestations
in a dance of paper down the tarmac,
or the sculptural fall of a single leaf.

It may rise up from a frying pan
to set solitude ablaze
or in zestful assembly abstract a stare
through the woven fabric of choric moments.

The record of times shared
is linked only by the frailest of philosophies,
the minutest of unknown concurrences,
the nicest convolutions of thought's syntax.

The record of times shared,
written on one mountain,
twinkles from the smallest particles of scattered sand,
so that a beachcomber may find,
stooping for a curious stone,
'the record',
and, scooping in shallow declivities,
fingers gone blue at the whipped salt wind,
for a fluted shell find
'of times shared'.

....................

Finis

*Revised to include texts and email records.

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