Saturday, June 29, 2013

Musings a Few Years Post India

Came back and got caught right back in the trap

All those juicy things are on the board, but I can't get to any of them

Squeezing out of a corner of the cardboard house

To run along the sidewalk in the dusk dark

While the rising moon watches with ghostly eyes 

The cicadas just about to burst into song

Dogs barking in the distance

You can tell it's a conversation

How we love summer

That free touch of evening air on your skin

Before the crisp white edges of the moon

Even knowing it's not flat

It lays against the blue-black sky

And now what's on the board

Doesn't seem so far away at all.