It was glimmering
in the lean
sky-topping shadows,
like sunlight freckling
the grass through
the leaves of a tree,
just waiting to be spoken.
It was in the hiss
of static traffic,
and like the sound;
in swept the tide,
burning my soles
with water.
The city called your name,
and the precipitation
fell so slight,
so unwonted,
that I wondered if,
perhaps,
it was just me crying.
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 |
| Laying on my back under an apple tree, I thought, "There has to be a poem in this somewhere." |
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo