Crimson Tears


In the midst of a dusty thoroughfare,

she stands there.

Not a mystic.

Nor, a mythical, vibrant, icon.crimson 4

As I stretch my needy hands ahead of me.

Our distance gets longer.

Between pictures of what I am hoping to see.

And, the wanting that aches below my feet.

I cherish these days.

These hours.

These minutes.

Refreshed in the soil of my toil.

The plump air tied to elm’s shedding crimson tears.

Only delicate factors…to which the walking woman draws near.

Yet, I am taken for a ransom in the realm of possibilities.

For there is an understanding between her and me.

I can only walk as far as, my eyes can see.



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