These shadows and
textures under foot
are ill substitutes for
the control board
syncopated within,
yet like a dream
robbed of memory
and floundering
in a boiling tempest,
still I scour the surface
for some hint, some
answerable question
waiting on the wings
of chance, lonely coins
staring inquisitively
at the clouds, anxious
for a glimmer of sun
to escape and make
their presence known.
(dtn)
Advertisements
