So focused is he on the mystery of
Dew dripping off rose petals
That his photographic eye
Cannot hear the rising wind.
So afraid of missing
The final song of the hip hop set
That he fails to focus on
The solemn sibilance of the breeze.
So caught up in the
Slinging of flesh inside
Memory’s cotton fabric that he
Will not hear the coming storm.
So the lightning reflects on
His retinas three times
Before he registers the act
And notices that he is
Too far above the waist of
The mountain to flee.
Related posts:
- Sweet Print Raving on the shores of starry nights While time drags...
- gallery “Enough Already” the newspaper said; the storm was the talk...
- I would I would not trust a wolverine no matter how he...
- standing water sluggish surface puddle reflects soft impacts mosquito delicate skates tiny...
- Strawberries I take comfort from the dream: you dip your finger...
Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.
