Red,
dark,
and
yet white points,
fluorescent rotation above my head…
Half-moon,
the sun going,
going…
almost,
kids
playing in the empty yard,
“one,
two, he’s coming for you...”
the
sounds of the afternoon,
somewhat weak at August’s end.
Venture
the day,
through
its tellurian
turns,
of a nomadic earth.
Earth
no longer unique of blue sea and green woodland,
wandering
lost,
in its own orbital days…
And
distant,
faraway from this view,
of
the errant man’s sight,
from
his central window,
staring
at himself in the middle of the concrete jungle!
However,
in a desirable wish,
waits
for a day,
dreams
for a month,
and,
still
waits to be closer
to the dusk of
sensibility,
where
hope
meets life every sunset.