I HEAR THE SOUND

From the feather edge

of thoughts, stewards like

marching memories stand

red brick building firm.

I see the common space between

here and there; a sliver of

everything important.

I sense the layers removed.

There is persuasion when the untold

surfaces of common

spaces, rehabilitate gray skies

into the summer of youth

 

Breezes find space through

rose bound fences,

creating the sound of

violins and cellos

merging into the masterpiece of

today.

 

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