Home > poetry > I go.

I go.

I look up through two narrow archways and over smooth kitchen tile to the window

where sunset is unfolding

and

I

go.

Over the grit of cracked asphalt,

over the sheen of slick black top,

over the rippling luminescence of water.

I

go

under the spider web of tree branches with new spring leaves,

under wispy threads of soft orange and lavender clouds,

under the command of stout traffic lights.

I

go

as fast as I can, but it’s not a race.

It’s just because I want to feel the air blast across my face

as I spend a few final moments with this particular day.

Why choose invisibility when you can fly?

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