It’s painful to leave
Sometimes I’m a little fearful
I exist for one thing
the merging of my being with what I’m seeing,
hearing, experiencing
the moon, a friend,
a tree
Am I escaping something?
No, I’m adding at least,
that is part of the dance
there in the
orange,
blue
and purple
cloud-stacked
Reflections of sunset
Rusty anti-advertising coneflowers
turning purple
The curling windows of the church
drenched in a tumbling
skyline from the
Crispy old writers room-come pocket park
not knowing
where I’m going
which is a very good thing
6 thoughts on "It’s painful to leave"
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” which is very good thing ”
Nice in detail and ” Reflections of sunset ” is so loaded it echos the title.
Good poem
Thank you! I appreciate it!
The feeling of being jumbled up in a yatzee-diced flurry of nacreous stained glass flower petals and churned out into the mouth of a thistle-and-dandelion-stippled hedge maze there at the end had me read it some six times over, like handing over flesh-thick tickets to a charming carnival roustie. To quote the poet, “Really good. Really, really good.”
Flesh thick tickets, whoa!
the moon, a friend,
a tree
crispy old writers room:
such sweet sorrow
Thank you, Jim!