Sunday is yet to be announced
I notice there are more sirens
In the neighborhood
Love, in a spiritual way,
Is the delectable sweetness,
Liquid Gold of a feeling.
To be on foreign soil
Daisies, oh daisies
Push, pull, saunter, hum, relax, swivel
Shake…….come back
Dusk, a real show
How poetry recites itself.
In the style of
The wind, who is
The only one that speaks
Contained in horns and sirens
A poet’s relief
If the page comes too loud.
Empathy is Poetry 