Jacob
He toes
the line,
Walking
it backwards,
A heady
insouciance
Long taken
for granted.
These days
stretch countless,
Wide open
for the taking,
Long drawn-out
summers
Sleeping
in an expanse of corn.
He eyes
the swallow’s echo,
Full knowing
its endless search
For the
next resting place,
Scouting the dipping breeze.
A grey
driftwood sign points
Northward,
but he cranes
His head
to the whispering south,
Forever pulled back.
Copyright
January 21, 2019
No comments:
Post a Comment
Thanks for commenting :)