an old parchment
lies in the pavement
soaked by the rain.
it holds a story
of long ago.
the ink runs
down the gutter,
rushing to join
the river of memories.
as the page drifts
and the edge points
to an unexplored street,
he brushes the tip of his pen
against the paper grain,
moves his wrist above it
like a shimmering silk scarf,
and between the fibers
a new tale dances.
posted by lei at 6:21 PM