102 Readings | 1 Rating


The wind picks up, drags salted rain all through

the city. And you, waiting for the bus,

decide against one lifetime for another.


It happens casually as losing keys,

or dreaming evil, or the routine sea

pulsing through galaxies of knotty net.


Love’s last and longest question, “What was I

before we met?” lies down and dies.

A spell loses its teeth, a fever fails.


And somewhere near the coast, some bird will wear

her wings out for the last time as she sails

for long-remembered nests. She won’t arrive.


And suddenly you say, What has this world

to do with me? You miss your bus, you run.


Posted 09/05/16
Comments (1)
Would you like to leave a comment on this profile? Join Ink Node for a free account, or sign in if you are already a member.
love this one
09/08/16 4:37pm