(An image I shot somewhere in New York)
Summer was slipping away. The sun flickered in and out
of the scene like a neon light outside a hotel window,
its iridescence flickered the faces on and off,
showing a moments kiss, before dying.
I recall warm days that came without warning,
fiery conversations, and drives that seemed
to have come accompanied with perpetual smiles.
And stretching out past the shoulder, the trees
of the season swayed--a prompt into certainty,
like immutable dreams, or sleeping with ghosts.
Composed, it was beautiful.
A poem I am working on this morning. It is no where finished.
Friday, August 14, 2009
Babbled by Cher Ferroggiaro at 6:47 AM