the town,
small enough to let the stars in at night.
small enough the eleven o'clock train passes through,
whistle blowing significant like the promise
of everything you could leave.
morning gulls
sleek,
the slender
scoundrels
pillage dumpsters
behind the chinese food place
yet to open for the season.
What do they find?
crisp the air morning
frost weeds surround
labour cars
knuckle link
couple together waiting,
waiting months
the next contract.
souls here yield, hug the ground
during rush hour
lasting fifteen minutes.
the day slips by.
the joy it brings.
the days slip by.
ohhhhh, the simple treasures deep in the days of nothing. it falls around our ears. we divine it, eyes closed, the peripheral humming. it comes to us.
ReplyDeletethis is beautiful.
xo
erin
Souls here yield...
ReplyDeleteyes they do! This is wonderful!