Reid@YWP

I’ll share a moment with you.

The day is lowering into eve 
tucked in by our February smoke 
the color of whiskey and gravel, 
and the yard is reminiscent 
like a memory of a memory. 

Fall

You are still, but the bright trees around you shake. 

Colored leaves fall onto your surface.

The wind howls, but you are calm. 

My city, my city

It takes many forms

In people and plants

Vines and beggars

Angry men and sour women

The worst of the best people 

And the best of the worst

Poets and great minds

Meet me at the River’s End

where waters slow and sink

where bank gives way to the bottomless depths

below the siren’s screams

Meet me in the Mountain Shade

Steam rises from the chimney
with a G-rated "come hither"
into the cerulean blue sky.

You feel drawn towards it
like a moth to a porch light
on a warm June evening.
"Come hither."

The gentle sway of trees in the wind, golden locks of hair blowing in the breeze

Syncing with the cattails in the shallows

This is what peace is.