Faraway
happy clouds,
a white glove party
which laughs and points fingers.
they float over
a cherry soda sun,
sugar in their bellies. safe.
just like that, they change:
behold a pale crowd,
pockets bulged with stones.
a swoop of nighthawk
and throats of nameless frogs
frame the stage
as the victim waits,
watching many a vee
of northbound geese.
always, she thinks,
that same letter
V V V …
flying off,
swift with hope,
to chase some faraway home.
====================
8/2/25 ... some mods throughout the day
No comments:
Post a Comment