By Sebastian Temlett
How can it be put down, taken out
To show what’s within?
The tunnelled trees in yellow light
As my feet find grey road beneath starry night
A cripple lies, eyes wide as I see him
I walk home upon his
And those stars above mean too little, too vast
A cough from a window as this stranger walks past
I glance up at the heavens that ask my purpose once more
As the city churns this night, in a grinding roar
And it pours like blood, red from my heart
Mind cupped to catch it in attempted start
But words fall short and an image stands too still
How can I begin?
I cannot find it nor feel it outside of within.
Photo by Sebastian Temlett