Still warm,
hot bright
world under the desert sun
the heat
lingers at night,
red canyon
brings the moon undertow
and the
night chill is just an exhale
over the
rocks soon to simmer,
temperate
cold only after the passing of midnight,
choice decision
of living in the gold glow
emanating
from the sappy pines,
miniscule
orbs of light stretching shadows across the floor,
but there’s
the shape of prints left
somewhere
across the warm glass globe,
where
remnants of cold cling to
shoe bottoms
and when shook, seen
particles of
stolen ice tumble loose,
a place
where howls are emphatic of
lingering
blue, small horizons sinking over
the white
cold and grey,
but I am
here and
they are
they,
warm and
wondering
when I might
see
such a
thing.
No comments:
Post a Comment