Listening to the birds
of ancient rymedies,
we were sharing music
modern camp fire.
tiny plazas and scenic pastures
into the what looked like
the grey, paved future.
what’s worth more than
a rhythm of my time,
A moment of hate?
Or the recognition of love?
must be somewhere above the city scape,
lost in the bluely lit pyramids.
I can’t imagine turning this car home.
Copyright © Katelyn Dobbs | Year Posted 2012