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




Over the grit of cracked asphalt,

over the sheen of slick black top,

over the rippling luminescence of water.



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.



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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