Sitting on the last river bench
Where the outlook has not changed
I can see the majestic mountains
Through the shrouding smog
I can have moments of silence
Before the traffic light upstream turns green
I can see those little white butterflies
Pairing up over the gorge
And parting overgrowth yielding to
prancing Taiwanese strays
Expanding Taichung around the bend
Highways and byways of insincere friends
Coming and going at irregular intervals
Clearing gray skies for graceful egrets
Swooping from the rising smoke
Of incense sensors burning shrubs
What makes no sense at all
Insensitive, tentative; not what it means
So return have I to the last scenic bench
To resume my real life permanent dream
January 31, 2019
Copyright © 2019 by David Barry Temple. All rights reserved.
