A Poem a Day (680): Paper spaces

 
Paper spaces
 
Within this misted riptide, the waste, torn paper,
the gutter gasping over, essence of the amiss,
a picture with no smile, the sound outside of
being, the birth of columns without words.
 
Etched wood signposts erase, directionless,
crystal waves, they rise, stay frozen-peaked,
desert roads stretch, continue to burn and turn,
all the endings forever out of someone’s reach.
 
Where they burrow down, they dig out deep,
rosebud noses breaking ground. Whiskers flicker,
considering the gaps and measuring in between
the spaces without and the spaces within.
 
Without their senses, you backtrack into night,
where one star may lead, the others distract.
We nestle in the trees with the souls of those long past.
Branches will not yield. Roots too long entangled.
 
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, August 13, 2024