The drying sun scalds A tree of drooping red pods The humming planes are low enough To brush with jealous fingertips Shrubbery sprawls over landscape Like frazzled starfish A name--Jason--engraved In concrete not yet dry A squeaking rope fastens A willful flag to its pole Windows of a lonely skyscraper Glow pink in sleepy sunlight Choruses of weary air conditioners Ricochet between adobe houses Breezes dance along baked concrete And chase us inside
Photo by PJ Gal-Szabo on Unsplash
My Thoughts From Afar | 