To Be In The Midst Of The City
( a homecoming poem )
To be in the midst of the city
Through the swaying leaves a glimpse of a window
No one to control your perfect heart
No one to blame at the first sign of panic
*
The moon like the petal of a homeless orchid
Porch lights echo for miles below it
A June bug, a rose bush
Three children running somewhere
*
The voices in your head they float away like powder
You have given
You have given
Your lips are dry from prayer
*
‘There is no other world.’
Says everything around you
But then what is that moment when you know you are floating?
Whose arms have carried you into the air?
About the Creator
Walter Thomas Kofman
writing
dumb
poems
since
1858
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Center Stage with Paul Stewart
*** I'm keen to republish the interviews I did for my series with Vocal creators. It's been a few years and I thought it might be nice to revisit these wonderful conversations. I'll be releasing them one at a time for a few weeks/months.
By Heather Hubler3 days ago in Interview
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