Life is framed by wooden windows
Peeling white paint, a sky in four seasons
I have spent forever watching leaves turn toward the sun
Rich, glorious life is framed by stone archways in old cities
What secrets are soaked in these sun-worn bricks?
I pray a cleansing rain never comes, but the cycle will continue
Life finds a home in the space between two branches
The space between your brow, between footprints
I find solace tracing the path of grand Helios
Lives are passing by in a steel and crimson-curtained frame
The train wheels shriek, I feel it in my fingertips
Your turned head is haloed
Lend me your shoulder, eyes wide open
How small an opening to the world, how large a view
-
rm
YOU ARE READING
semi-permanent
Poetrya collection of poetry "Let this evening be the next piece of fabric you/stitch onto the dwindling threads of time" (from "it's late") (RM 2022-2023)
