Lives, spent like leaves ripped from the trees.
I stop, and look into this vision, and I am impaled upon it.
This world; so vastly beyond my ability to understand.
We cry and we love and we cherish our children
and we are swept by the passions of this moment;
which become so irrelevant on the next turn.
And still the leaves spill from the trees
and the history books are full of how little
all the things we cared about mattered.
gallagher
19Nov21
Christchurch
-after reading Souief’s, “The Map of Love”