Tuesday, October 19, 2010



Hitchhiking in the dark
could not have been as shocking
as they say.  Traveling from garden
to garden.  The passenger takes out
his book of fragrances and twirls
on this road show. 

Old nightingales perch on his arms
as he compresses the tears shed
for those souls whose faces begin
to disappear against the colorless glass
of so many years.

The traveler opens the book crying,
and the footloose fragrances
initiate their dance as he stares
out the window at the city lights.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Blog Archive