May 27, 2008 at 2:46 pm (Dominic Alapat, Poetry)


He was working his way

through slowly, past webs

of days turning to air again.

He was looking for a particular

moment, a figure, a faint form

appearing in grey, not gone

yet, still there, breathing and

changing; it had changed since

he had last seen it. Yet it was

there, its grey appearing darker,

then blurring, before it went

wherever forms go.


– Dominic Alapat.




1 Comment

  1. netra said,

    ‘wherever forms go’ is some other radiance…

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