because while some truths lend themselves to equations, others are best described in verse

Off Texas Avenue, the parking lot is littered with memories

From the skinny brown arcs
of ballerinas rooted
in a coltish breeze,
the first brittle leaves drift
limply to still-summer ground,
yellow earthbound stars
five-pointed like fingers
whose reach is destined to be crushed.
there is a silence
that holds underneath the constant hum
of voices, engines, bike treads;
the same we came here seeking
so many years ago. tiny clam shells
scattered among gravel tell how far
the sea has come, calling
to mind a beach road
i saw once, where a black man
in an old truck rode north
with one arm out the window,
the bed full of rusted chains,
whole oil drums full. like the shadow
of the hawk gliding hugely over the rooftops
that bank the park, i want it
to mean something, to be more
than soundless commentary:
a blessing. a washing clean.

3 responses

  1. Your images are so focused and lovely. The transition to the man riding around in his old truck like a shadow of a hawk is a strong visual- feel like I was there

    September 17, 2016 at 7:51 pm

  2. This is such a beautiful poem.

    October 8, 2016 at 5:24 am

    • Thank you! It is good to be writing again.

      October 21, 2016 at 9:59 am

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