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Pioñs jive
in cross breezes
crows huddle
on crooked sycamore arms
I leap
out of my eyes
into emptiness
to dance with the fog
on light toes
Behind tempered glass
I am blind
to people things
signs billboards
orange vests with brooms
Music vibrates
underfoot
rises like sap and pours
from my ears to drop
like amber beads
Grasses and coyotes sway
on long stems
to my pulse
We cavort
on the hillside
copyright 2006
Stephany
Prodromides |
