Tradewinds

Tradewinds

Memory never happens, it doesn’t see
what’s coming. I have traded a muddy river for a train
and clay roofs for the rain that roused whirlygig creeks 
and field elms, and geese swayed a foot above my head,
and a thousand miles inside the fossil
in which my eyes are planted. They’re not lost on me,
I hear them, still, their immutable talk of their brief lives; they
leave behind their astonished tracks in the air, as I do.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s