fleeting

we have found each other
not in the grand proclamations

of earthquakes and hurricanes,
not by those torrents

which relay screams of the above
to the quiet earth below.

but in breezes, a symphony played
only by the shuffling of leaves.

and in passing unexpected whispers,
unsure of what has transpired.

like how stillborn clarity can
remarkably smile for the first and last time.

stories which end as soon as they begin,
stuck in the gate leading to significance.

there I have found you,
but you are already gone.

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