magic on the high road

walked in a grey gloom

along the roadside. drizzle

from low-clouds enunciated

my thoughts

for me,

sometime, noontime.

and my eye met the oval-faced

gigantic child’s eyes

across

the asphalt

where the cars slashed by

with sounds of wind and rubber,

and nameless people strode

over pavements

with strength and health

toward their stations, like

styluses caught in grooves,

and the village retard raised

his hand

to me

like a dazzle of sunlight

that beamed through the keyhole

to open the door of daybreak

in my mind,

 

 

and i smiled back at him,

strolled home to solitude

and had

a more joyful afternoon    

Reviews

[Rafique Farooqi]

So beautifully done.

[...]

. beautiful writing, monsieur ...
. very vivid and moving ...