Friday Poem - 3 Quarks Daily
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Friday Poem - 3 Quarks Daily
Customhouse Quay She’s out of sight behind the black Brasilia, Slav, I think, Ukranian, her soulful English, dark eyebrows, bewilderment. We migrate or drift to the antipodes from God knows where, clouds resembling barbed wire, or a Balinese shadow puppet play. We are proverbial ships in the night. If we met we wouldn’t know what to say; age, appointments and circumstance move us on. Though she, I guess, will stay, taking orders, wiping these su…
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