A Day Without
dark pavement
covered with wind-blown leaves
tonight, every object
shining in the midnight gutters
is at first a quarter.
my hand fights
to keep the hair out of my face
the shape of the gesture reminds me of you
& places less cold
than the sidewalk
of this forgotten town.
thoughts:
something about the way
you mentioned my wings
as though they'd be obvious
to every eye
or
that touch
in a not so distant moment
this dream made real
something i'm scared i'll wake from.
i think it will be a while,
before i find that quarter.
how long until morning?
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