Passing Peripherals (A Poem of the Season)

A photo of a tree at night.

Bruce Irschick/Flickr

What is it about the wind

That allows the secrets in?

Shapes rush past: are they human?

Neighbors or merely phantom?

I lunge forward, moving away

From the statue of a superlative steed,

Need I feel fear, uncertainty

In the darkish park/

Hardly! I am freshly stimulated;

My cheer brushed

By a barking fluffy pup.

(A leftward extension of an old

Buick Park Avenue rear passenger

Port, but – chort!”)

Why then does the brief infusion

Of a bewildered / or enthused dog

Arouse my imaginings of the

Wonders of a life examined (and enjoyed);

Far better than the peripheral,

Blurred shades

Of an anthropoidal,

Pedestrian,

Mob?

Advertisement

email updates

We believe ending homelessness begins with listening to the stories of those who have experienced it.

Subscribe

RELATED CONTENT