Tuesday, November 1, 2022

The song is to the singer, and comes back most to him (Walt Whitman)

autumn makes herself known
in the fabric of the wind
bending our time


bathing in the light of a new day
behind me, in front of me, bright


sunrise, sunset, dawn, dusk, autumn, winter
all arrives with a turn of the earth
a magic trick
not fully solved

 

the language of time is mysterious
for one full minute, we can become riveted
by every bird twitch, a turning of the page


bumping into the contours of life
be tempted to break free
tumble into light


at every city corner
there is a promise of something maybe mouth-watering delicious
maybe nose-wincing stale
maybe stomach-turning under-cooked
maybe magically life-changing


No comments:

Post a Comment