I.
now it’s a barn,
a ballroom really
if I close an eye
II.
the posts wait
in shafts of light
swirling with dust
III.
once she pushed me
up against the wall
entirely
IV.
on the phone
our faces hang,
talking mouths open
V.
the shadow of me
pushes hard against my shoes
no matter how fast I walk.
VI.
the night windows
spill yellow light
I step right through
VII.
lines on sidewalks
make deep sense
constantly ready
VIII.
now the bridge,
wider than it seems
when I walk midway
IX.
looks narrow
when seen
from the river
X.
famous last words
yet to be written
remain unsaid
In response to The Daily Post:Textures