In darkness
the sound of a
meadowlark’s song
between two mountains,
Whitetail and Blue Pine, the Twin Peaks.
In the shadow downtown
no sign of life,
empty stretch of road
backlit by a bright eye and
beak of the bird,
an early rising littered
with last night’s trash.
Dawn cycles,
slow moving from green
to yellow to red,
a sober ballad slightly run down
imposing granite,
images of white neon,
night shift kick.
Fade in,
react to the kiss,
the meadowlark silk lost
in a dreamy state of mind.
Look outside, idle vanity
caught across the gravel.
Open, automatic expression
about to drop.
You hold on,
stay right there.
No comments:
Post a Comment