The other side of shade,

on the banks of the unfamiliar,

where I am mindful of dust,

from towns past,

but not from here.

It’s a summer loud day, the wind

and sky companions,

a place some call home,

where a sweater is used for warmth

or a pillow.

A place where houses

and main street look the same

with railroad yards, deserted

motels and roadside picnic tables carved

with initials.





Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s