Visions

Do you still see the dead
walking among the crowd,
in the library, on the bus,
at the playground? Everywhere
but the old stone church
where bones grow brittle
beneath its crumbling weight?

You once said they smile
and whisper words you cannot
fathom, turn, and walk away.
They carry light in glass jars,
brushing against the living
like a winter wind through
a forest of barren trees.

A Week or More

So I’ll be on vacation for the next several days. The triple digit Texas heat is a great excuse to get out of town and head to the mountains. My posts over the next several days will either be photos or repeats…but hopefully inspiration will strike. 

Be well and write on. You never know what the next word will uncover.

Anthony
Photo: Windmill farm in West Texas.

Summer

Embed from Getty Images

The sea shells scraped the bucket
as we walked slowly from the shore.
The shock of the burning sand

quickened our pace, and we skipped
on tiptoes to escape the pain in our feet.
At some point we turned and ran

back into the ocean where it seems
we have waited hours for the sun
to spill its fire into the surging sea.

 

* From Awaiting the Images