Pinehurst Street

Missing Belhaven… wrote a poem.

Pinehurst Street

At night, dead sleep, living walk
the tiger lanes which lollop up and down,
painted by the orange streetlamps, voided
in the dark leafy patchworks. Houses bear ghosts. Here
or there an oil-wick burns behind glass,
a lonely axis mundi. Rainwater shines
under steps that fragment its radiance. Ever the green
hill behind me, beside, before,
ever before. My steps turn toward her,
the palace of lights, away from the crouching
domes of an old heart, old soul
that whispers to a thousand dead sleepers.
I am not dead; I die not here:
the air is too heavy to drown in,
and I am too meager not to float.

One comment on “Pinehurst Street

  1. salvageroost says:

    This was quite pleasant to read aloud, rhythm and brush of syllables. Also, I may accidentally steal that last line from you someday, so watch out. 🙂

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