<![CDATA[
<body><script type="text/javascript">
function setAttributeOnload(object, attribute, val) {
if(window.addEventListener) {
window.addEventListener('load',
function(){ object[attribute] = val; }, false);
} else {
window.attachEvent('onload', function(){ object[attribute] = val; });
}
}
</script>
<div id="navbar-iframe-container"></div>
<script type="text/javascript" src="https://apis.google.com/js/platform.js"></script>
<script type="text/javascript">
gapi.load("gapi.iframes:gapi.iframes.style.bubble", function() {
if (gapi.iframes && gapi.iframes.getContext) {
gapi.iframes.getContext().openChild({
url: 'https://www.blogger.com/navbar/8836798?origin\x3dhttp://nomadrose.blogspot.com',
where: document.getElementById("navbar-iframe-container"),
id: "navbar-iframe"
});
}
});
</script>
]]>
poem for fall
The First After a Time
Forgotten how, it seems, I have forgotten how,
I fear, to walk in the line I previously could not stray from.
No matter how hard I tried.
Effort is not recognized. Pain is not measured. Time is not felt,
seen, nor heard.
Holding my own hand while trying to remember the rules once ingrained.
My hand white with the dryness of
winter. Cold, lonely solitude of frozen limbs and straggling leaves.
I am the leaf that cannot bear to fall, cannot let go, cannot move on to the appointed time and place to be dried out, spit out on the icy cold pavement to be crunched into pieces by an unsuspecting foot.
I am the leaf;
I am the foot.
<< Home