barely ten degrees
outside inside
almost seventy
head spinning
from all the smoke
if brother was here
he would be drawing
as I sit sketching
these thoughts with words
he makes a picture appear
capturing a moment
as I do with words
drawing thoughts together
like laces of the shoes
so they don’t fall off
this is a long steep climb
no one has returned
to explain what comes next
must remain ready
for a challenge no matter the size
cold enough to crack skin
make it dry and bleeding
the predawn funk
also known as the ride to work
dreaming about that next day off
desperately wanting to sleep it off
make the big move onward
upward no matter who is watching
or how dirty the hands might get…
No comments:
Post a Comment