Timing, a poem


In Prague,
Tuesday takes his hand,
dragging him into the
streets of orange-tiled roofs.

In Minneapolis,
Monday bars my way.

What new secrets
have stubbed his toe?

When I wake,
the sunlight on my face
is already ancient.

Let's Get Lost by bluecoloursofnature

Let’s Get Lost by bluecoloursofnature

5 thoughts on “Timing, a poem

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