Sunday Evening

Uncategorized 1 Minute 
it’s when the blossoms dare
     to stand in bold opposition to
  that military dome

                it’s when raindrops cling
                      like a Southern Cross
                  to the webbed needles of a casuarina’s fork


              it’s when feathers and wood
                    rattle with the flight of birds & their songs 
                         are held aloft by scaffolding clouds


    it’s when the concrete path gleams
               secretive as silk;  supine
            to the narcissistic sky


                   it’s getting home to the smell 
                          of cooked apple and wet dog
                        and the warm, yellow clutch of electric lights

Published by abigfatcanofworms

We all walk in the dark. But if we hold hands, perhaps the dark won't be as scary.

Published

14 thoughts on “Sunday Evening”

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