by LJ Frank

perusing a reprinted work

with frayed edges

from the early 1900’s

years without reading

fingers through the philosophy 

listening to my own composer

words narrowly shaped  

the stimulus of a thought

is there an answer to the abstract…

does belief in an existence after death

affect how I live this minute

are there no answers

to the most poignant questions

or is relevancy building a shelter

in an off the grid account…

nothing is just nothing

life’s redundancy

a morning dream dissipates like dew

under the sun

a single memory can brighten an impression

others melt like dirty Spring snow

and still, i smile 

gazing at the fresh water

watching her walk by 

footprints in the narrow ribbon of sand

knowing the waves on a windy day

will wash her feet away

but for the fleeting depth of a breath

each other’s presence felt 

before intimacy is lost 

and meaning recedes in the distance

for there is no point

except the one we accord it

within the measure 

of a heartbeat.