The Eye

every storm has an eye.

every dog has his day.

every moment, every memory, every word hovers now, an inch off the ground, soon to fall. their combined weight making the earth shake.

i am reminded of the temple of ta prohm, swallowed by the jungle. trees older than america sprouting from it's walls. does the temple hold up the trees or do the trees hold up the temple?

sometimes it doesn't matter. sometimes you just accept it.