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    I think of today, of yesterday –
    of all the yesterdays – bitter-sweet
    as a twisted candle in the burnt-orange 
    autumn air;
    amber gold  liquid, filling smoky atmosphere
    purpled in a dusky venetian glass,
    and the scent of roses
    a bouquet shimmering
    in dusky twilight. 
    Roughened cobblestones drum 
    a husky muted rhythm to the 
    sweet high moaning of 
    whispering pines. 
    Yesterday... all the yesterdays... 
    and what of today? 
    Today is then and now and later, 
    in the mirror of still water, throbbing 
    a remembered time…
    a divided and walled twilight time 
    of a city-fired dome of western sun 
    sinking under her moon-cooled gourd. 
    I slowly remember, isolated
    figure in space, a saddened smile 
    leading her yesterday to now 
    and afterward a heavy weight 
    bending her head toward dwindling dreams.
    Time has flown, and time flows onward. 
    A voice reaches out, tenderly streaming 
    through twilight mist of autumn leaves, 
    now rustling. 
    There she sits in amber gold liquid 
    of rose pollen, in an ebony chair 
    and red-lacquered room engulfed 
    in long-stemmed candles and the scent of pine, 
    a fragrant perfume. 
    There she sits in aquamarine pool 
    of tranquil sapphire blue …
    gazing beyond and within, 
    enclosed and far beyond, bittersweet 
    auburn head bent. 
    In twilight cool summer we come 
    and in winter's crystal sound…
    autumn's fire... rebirth of spring…
    poplar chestnut to pine. 
    There she will sit to speak, to gaze, to listen. 
    Time flowing, time flowing onward. 
    To gaze, to listen. Time flowing, 
    time flowing onward. 
    The time is this moment, 
    as she is of this moment, 
    her voice richly vibrant, filling 
    a candle-warmed evening 
    where peace will always reign. 
    Listen to the silent night...
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