I trust when the autumn
goes away
with
your feelings
my feelings
past the Italian bakery
the pets in windows
the warmth in coats
and scarves on cold Sunday mornings
when your eyes like
crystals
under the million miles of sun
I see the blue
the new civilizations
the new ways of living
the clean clean consoles
and the ambient white light
I trust the past has melted
I sit in the den
The brush fields of the south
now the purgatory of
northern cities
and messenger messenger
satellites
turning high above
from Humble, Humble Love (poetry book)
novamartinpoetry.com 