My feet have slowed—
my eye measures distance
and my mind weighs
the importance of moving
as I withdraw
from all the magic
flashing the horizon
like explosions
of another war
that will not wound me,
fatally. This time
is mine to spend,
frugally. Summer sighs
into September shadows
as I wait for storms
to wash the outside
world clean away.
Too old to play football
or politics anymore,
I hear colors sing
without a score.
drycrikjournal 