Let Linger Onward

Its summer scene of hours passed.

I, in this inkyphem’ral
moment.

Under The Shelter Of St. Nick’s

The wind-waves ferry only onward th’scents of wawtry wood and th’smells of rainswept stone.

? ( … )

‘Ray’byun camels c’lect their stores in sanded, varnished vista.

Th’river’s crossed.

A gradual, rolling rumble from few spots on the horizon brings a chorus for the dawn to sail its orange sunlight o’er.

Beneath the raised voices sinks the sound of someone leaving…

As if a separate, other person
lived a separate life…