And so it goes
Late afternoon,
hour blue,
walk slow,
shadow
lingering
behind.
.
I’m thinking,
I think,
but, when I turn
to my thoughts,
they scatter
like villagers
before the giant’s
footstep.
.
If only one
would stand fast,
like the brave little tailor,
I swear I’d listen.
.
Another day,
another walk,
mind drifting like
an unmoored zeppelin.
.
Below,
Ideas
shake their fists,
shout, leap up,
clutch at
grappling lines,
but the ropes
are out of reach.
.
But some awareness
wonders what they had to say
as mind floats away.
.
by Nils Peterson
.
by Nils Peterson