you

Out of nothing there comes a time called childhood, which
is simply a path leading through an archway called
adolescence. A small town there, past the arch called youth.

Soon, down the road, where one almost misses the life
lived beyond the flower, is a small shack labeled, you.

And it is here the future lives in the several postures of
arm on windowsill, cheek on this; elbows on knees, face in
the hands; sometimes the head thrown back, eyes staring into
the ceiling . . . This into nothing down the long day's arc . . .

-- You/Russell Edson


(as usual, Edson soothes your mind yet stirs your heart...)