Sunday, November 3, 2019

Sitting Between Two Cranes

Strollers pass on a lonely dyke 
Their chatting pausing, smiling back
Acknowledging I am here.
Sitting between two cranes,
Along the river
A river that does not care if I am here,
It does not stop to look
or care if it gets the connection
Do I keep rolling any differently than a river?
That comes and goes,
Through velvet mornings and midnight haze,
If you were here on this bench,
I would pass it to you;
I would not mind.

November 3, 2019

Copyright © 2019 by David Barry Temple. All rights reserved 

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