a promise.

it is not a wonder, you

ceased hearing

the sweeping hush of green boughs

outside the window

as the cities

and faces click by, you

lurch toward the guard rails

press against a bitter wind,

wish to rest your eyes

you visualize the frayed edges

of this mislaid joy, the time

when you could bend down

and lift promises to your chest

it is not a wonder, in this

world you molded,

the perspective to lose

has been lost

in the continuum 

© 11.8.12 heather brager