parcels of land
like the expressway
i can't touch what you touch
i can't smell or feel
the ways of the backroads
rumor's that we connect somewhere
and every once in a while i see
a glimpse of you
through the cyclist and
his son,
the chevy and its ton
off and to the right
my shoulder
and i wonder
do we share the same vista
do we stretch & ache beneath the same canvas?
This one, I get.
ReplyDeletegood stuff.
thank you, thank you.
ReplyDeleteas i said earlier, it was one of those stream of consciousness works with smaller ambitions.