Listening to the night
narrating its story through
the open window
Listening to the night
narrating its story through
the open window
Sometimes it would be three o'clock
and we would stop somewhere
basically a windowless cafe
and the old carpet would smell like dogs
dust would fill the air
and even the tea would be bad
then we would hit the road again
pedaling in the wind
a taste of blood in the mouth
mosquitoes on the teeth
memories would finally be tired
and we could go to bed
*first posted in March 2020, reviewed in March 2021
Seasons again
and battle songs
you answered with your head
nodding yesses and nos
truant trickles
in the changing climate
you were far too fragile
to carve the sky
waiting a long time
then finally find something
around the corner
retracing my steps
to find where I come from
but can't find anything
neither the starting point
nor the finish