The Intimate Stranger
I was reading a dead man`s newspaper
on the first train home
Through the ink I read his spirit
walking highways lost
His life lines were carved
into the space of my palms
His eyes were
tundras
of emptiness
as his heart sank
deeper
against my skin
He reminded me
of hope
He reminded me
of all things
human
Dead bird
floats the sea
Starts
to sing
in lethardic sunlight
This train has never left me since
Copyright © Kornelia Birch | Year Posted 2017
|