Alone at last,
Blue dusk lingers on.
What a lark.
Swinging my feet,
and turning
everything into itself.
Deep in my notebook,
a new leaf floats by.
Dressed in spare colours.
Back from the war,
a bird shadow passes.
Looking for soul food,
and a way home.
And the river rekindles itself.
From years
of elevator silence.
I hope I’m right,
that nothing is truly mine.
Just life shedding
its pale replica.