Cracked Asphalt

I was tracing the cracks in the asphalt

Like they could have been tree roots

Or constellations, stained glass

But fell short somewhere along the way

I was tracing the cracks in the asphalt

Like her freckles

 

The sun had gone down but the

Concrete was still warm beneath

My fingertips

I almost kissed the sidewalk

 

As it stands, I’ve already

Rubbed off my fingerprints

 

I was tracing the cracks in the asphalt

Because they reminded me of her

And all of her

Brave grass life growing where

We said it couldn’t

And all of her love like

Seedling cotton woods

That you know aren’t going to make it

But you still root for

 

I don’t know where she is anymore

But I still smile

Whenever I see that hopeless

Seedling growing

Reviews

[...]

. of what there once was ... very little remains ... beautiful narrative ... it records time in poetic terms with incredible skill and precision ...