The light is ordinary
on an ordinary day
– our greatest tragedies rouse nothing more than a shrug
– such ordinary misfortunes
– mere heart-rendings
So much is contained in a moment
a passing of music, the scent of cinnamon and cloves,
a shadow across a table, the soft catch of a closing door
An ordinary moment, indistinguishable from a wind torn wisp of cloud
It’s the silence that is so big
swallowing everything
gulping down the light
erasing the ordinary footfalls on the blue and white tiles of the ordinary floor
that lead to the closing of the ordinary door
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