Maybe behind this or that sad bush there will be a future
+ then we could walk together awhile In the darkness of Central Park – the lamps would cast eggs of yellow Safeties that we could unmoor in
If this bench were a blade –your chest would render would scatter into pixels –
The heart is a bubble wrapped in the petals of a moonflower attended to by hummingbird moths –
We circle the lake that is not a lake
We find the dark corners of a rock-filled hill – just want to be held – from the jaws of wolves stalking night joggers
Each a sign of survival – in their own way
Michael J. Wilson lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico where he writes for an entertainment company. His new book will be out this winter.
Discover more from Michael in Contributor Books.