THE HIDDEN TRACK

The following passages are dedicated to Leopold, to the vernacular, to certain evil women (you know who you are), to certain wonderful people(they know who they are), to soft afternoons and quiet Sunday evenings, to Fall and seeing your breath for the first time since Spring, and to Isabelle Ya Feng ... a soul slipped by like two ships passing in the still, moonlit sea.
-- Abraham Ahmed, the Surfing Beatnik



Capturing an element...

The fiery laughter could be heard from the lamppost outside where I stood leaning, listening, and inhaling the tinged flavor of my remaining cigarette.

I tucked my hand into my chest to protect the burning ash from the evening wind and turned to look over my shoulder at the woman in the window, her eyes upward, her mouth agape in smiling pose, her crow's feet in full blood at the left and right of her radiant face...

Supper smells; potatoes, bread, red wine, spiced pie or tarts.

"God! look at her guard removed and reservations thrown to the floor and shower in this stunning moment!" I thought as I turned to view in full panorama. I crossed my arms and allowed the cigarette to lie limp in my two fingers.

I smiled and warmed inside with the completeness of the moment... the moment, mine and soon to disperse into the void of memory.

I am all that I have ever seen...
...and I have seen all that I am.

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