BACKYARD TOWN

an open window,white curtains attempting to escape windward   below, a dirt alley between wooden shacks   a train yard, open empty boxcars, idle iron heat, miles behind, miles to go   lumber to be loaded, men with caps sit shaded like tumble weeds waiting for a wind of orders to move

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NO PLACE SPECIAL

morning motion,city traffic, cold in summer, a moment not to be judged by the ordinary   outside unfolds, steeled faces fear unseen dangers, yet find safety within it   like birds appearing to have no where to go

MORE THAN A DREAM

top pocket dreams,close to the heart, paper drop tears on unsent love letters as I look up from beneath at the crossroads of life, wondering from below the moving parts above, in the shape of shadows and whispers, while   rose pedals and magnolias drip onto my shoulders with unexpected mercy, placing me within the … More MORE THAN A DREAM

THE FABRIC OF MOVING

bundled,estranged souls, streams of wool and cotton, buckles and brocades traversing streets and sidewalks, stepping to stairs, lined at doors, waiting at lights, journeys day and night to safety, to escape, to arrive, as the circle continues unafraid of reaching the end  

FLOATING BACKWARD    heavy damp air presses down chimney smoke with an unseen hand   ditches are full of last nights rain   we rest at fireside, warming the within   unworn stories release like water over smooth stones as we hold between what is regularly reviewed without compromise