12.04.01/2
Echoes
Echoes
Dried leaves sweep along the sidewalk and refuse to allow
my steps silence. The wind imprisons salt water, carried
from the sea. I open my mouth slightly, letting my tounge absorb
the ocean's spray. The wind blows, lifting things in her path.
She lifts locks of my hair; they dance around my head, then collapse
in a lapse of breath, landing against my cheek, now damp
from the cool October air.
Leaning over the bridge, chin resting on arm covered by woolen sweater.
I watch trains slow down and stop, change cargo
and leave. Headlights bright
against the pale blue sky. A time when it is both dawn
and dusk. The colours of trees and leaves, of grass
and paint on houses glow against the sky.
The wind has helped me shed a layer, helped me release my soul.
Rid me of the haze of thoughts bumping
against walls, trying to escape.
Pulling open
heavy doors that lead the wind and me into familiarity.
Walking down empty hallways, the sound of my rubber soled shoes
echoing
against the dark wooden walls. . . against the posted flyers. . .
against the ads calling for help. . . Physics, Math, Biology, English. . .
The streaks on the floor, left by wet mops, trying to wipe
the day's history from the white turned gray.
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