The city was New York.
The time was 10:31 am.
One could see the sun.
The season was spring.
The temperature was 53°F.
It was misty.
The time was 10:31 am.
One could see the sun.
The season was spring.
The temperature was 53°F.
It was misty.
Breathing Days
Samuel Amadon
I don’t know where the air is coming from.
I stop my walk as if watching a fire
Slowly cease. I have a breath I breathe, or
That’s what I keep thinking. I have nowhere
To run. I’m in no one’s reach. The curb grass
Ground with its yellow stems is what I feel
My fingertips in, out. On out, I turn
My face to find which scent is dangerous
When I breathe it in, I have a thought slip
Across my hairs and skin, a person who
You won’t understand when you read them
Until their poem ends. I’d smile at them,
If my face weren’t lost in after-lights
Of days gone on no matter what one likes.