September 3, 2021Poem
Fingers-crossed.
lossgriefnaturecitymusictime
Fingers-crossed.
So much is lost
In the passing
Light barely reaches into darkness
The deepest recesses
Always remain hidden
What mystery.
The crows caw wildy
Out of sight
What wind ruffles their feathers
How many ducks swim in the pond
Beyond the shadow of the wall
Down in the valley
Where the old creek flows.
Opposite, on a balcony
There is a girl
Brushing her short gamine hair
Barely a whisper away
She laughs into a phone
Before disappearing into
The gloom of a bedroom
Below, a single cylinder bike
Which resembles
A Royal Enfield Bullet
Hammers along the road
Too fast for safety
Perhaps it is just for effect.
The girl steps out
Legs like a model
Leaning too far out
Over the balcony
Waving to somebody
Perhaps it is the biker
Perhaps it is nobody
What mystery is life