Tuesday, January 6

Waiting for My Ride

Today is not the color I would choose.

Do the rest of you see beauty in telephone wires?
Those sagging arcs intersecting, crucifix poles receding
To the vanishing point? Or is it just me?

Any idiot can see the beauty in trees.

I could be inside waiting instead of shifting
My weight from foot to foot in this parking lot
But I choose this vigil. Simple cold, obvious and clear.

The wind conceals no secrets.

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