Moving away.
Making the grey corridors black.
A haversack of tools and grime.
An altogether unusual crime.
The fallen moment.
The motion that says something to you.
The longing.
It happens to us all.
And then it moves on,
don’t you know.
A lush deciduous forest.
A footfall.
Earth, dampness, leaves.
Earth, dampness, leaves.
An end.
November 8, 2014
Travelling
By sjlavery
This entry was posted on Saturday, November 8th, 2014 at 11:39 am and tagged with Dan McGill, DM McGill, Poetry and posted in Dan McGill, Dan McGill Author, DM McGill, Poetry. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.
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