Assurances you seek
in the bleak court waiting
for a sign
unwritten
transliterated
with a sharp stroke
the awnings weighed
down towards inside
cobbles smooth and
grouted clean by
soft rolls of Sunday
ramblers
beer in paper cartons
before the road
spills out
Yikes. Could we even trust those assurances? A fine poem that just gets better with each reading.
ReplyDeleteshould we swallow these assurances like fresh dolmades perhaps at lunch ahead - smooth as Stuart.
ReplyDelete