Poetry

Movement (poem)

The present moment,

a mess of interpretation

a puzzle strewn across my minds

eye.

 

Leaves scattered across an old

picnic blanket

left behind after the long

summer day.

 

The night winds blow cold now

through the eaves and

echoes of laughter and screams

of delight idle away like wet

foot prints across a tarmac floor.

 

I’m peddling against the wind now

feeling the air rush against my cheeks

and the distance roll away

beneath me-

 

I’m gaining ground.

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