Beautiful poem and artwork, Steve.
Crossroads on the valley floor, a sign,
a part-time river colored laundry blue,
and by the water in a town, the air is scented
with hot absence, molecules in chaos
ignoring windward motion.
The parkland’s plaque is dull, I make it shine,
reflect the woken world with Brasso,
and polish out its words:
You wonder why you’re still asleep.
Your other wonders why he’s still awake.
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One thought on “exits”
Very kind of you to share this, Sobhana. I have a feeling that sometimes I write a comment and then don’t actually press the “send” button … That’s what happens when a person who is easily sidetracked like me tries to do several things at once.
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