From the window of the fourth-
floor walk-up, the umbrellas
slid past each other with
assembly-line perfection,
black & blue mingling with
the occasional red, yellow,
lime-green. The street shone
like a mirror that gives
nothing back. The hiss of tires.
This short loop keeps playing
in my head as I watch
the cloud lift & a white moth,
caught out after daybreak,
yawing & veering against
a backdrop of dripping trees.
This summer won’t come again.
Why spend it en route
to somewhere else? I pluck
a snail from the deep grass
& place it on my palm.
It makes a slow circuit
on its single foo

Tomorrow is the deadline to submit materiGreatest Blog Hits issue at qarrtsiluni All genres are welcome and there’s no length limit, but the posts must have appeared at least one year ago &qarrtsiluni for additional details. Posted by: Vianegativa    Source

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