Halfway Here

Between the realms of altitude and low
gliding views and unclenching expanse
my sense of singularity turns into
a flock of undetermined species of blue.

In a mediterranean sort of vale
my walk was taken down to scale
inner and outer ears two poles of drone
my reverie was decomposed to bone.

For those who celebrated it it is christmas
a foot of blanket laid down spread like sugar
my feet and hands want to gambol in it
leaving tracks and freezing fingers in it.

The quiet is worse when I think of talking
or remember how a clock would ruin it
if I picture anywhere there is squawking
wind on ridge or wave on beach ringing out.

Between two cities inevitable conflict likes
or is it only contrast delineating the cries
of urban bird and rural celebrating in between
one with sheen of coal and one with brass patina.

Coming in and out of delight and dread
here I stand on the side of the roadless road
willing to be born for what other men
die for without asking where or when.

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About mrsorenson

all over the place
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