City Park
The park empties
inside a nightgown of dusk.
They have talked
yet only now are they speaking
through a rhythmic articulation
of the unsaid.
She a trembling levee through which
a river seeks a sea,
he a plow
in the hands of dark angels.
There are groves of trees,
shadows in hiding,
places buried deep
into the crux of earth-ripe passions.
There they peel the layers,
conceal and reveal,
utter body prayers,
swear to retain and preserve
every demanding ounce of themselves
as one being.
The park glides into a dreaming starlight,
they leave, holding a tenderness
like a frail child between them.
A garish daylight glares, reshapes the park,
with a stark and angular graphite.
Walls and barriers are duct taped together,
the sky patched and reeling,
hideaways questioned and scuff-marked
by a tramping tread.
The city reclaims its grout and mortar
crouches above a grey and concrete claw.
Crumbs of an ill-defined regret
are left out for the sparrows.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2021
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