...the letter killeth, but the spirit giveth life...

Tuesday, March 15, 2016

36. In a Morning

In a morning muted and held by fog, 
the bike path unrolled before me
in a dull, black streak over gray sand,

its weak reflection diffused by moisture.
Runners and cyclists approached and passed
like visitors on the ramp of heaven,

ghosts unaware unless pleaded to
by gesture and shout. Plugged in, they move
in periphery to sounds I can’t hear.

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