I read another goddamn poem by Tess Kincaid, Willow Manor, Ohio ... visit her ...
Pass through town ―
where traffic lights change
without traffic ―
to single-lane outside the muddy bay.
Drive gently beside me,
sand in your hair, like in your dream ―
hoisting from water to headland
can be messy.
Pull forward to a passing spot,
beyond the guardrail.
Raise a one-finger salute ―
then press, to lip-read my intentions.
Disregard the carefully folded map.
Pray to your own hand ―
my America ― my new-found land.
You know the way.
Tess Kincaid: Passing Place poets pen | |
| 3 Likes | 3 Dislikes |
| 74 views views | 179 followers |
| People & Blogs | Upload TimePublished on 24 Aug 2013 |
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