Time melts into the city, summer breeze whispers, the world inside my
embrace, silence.
Pull me down, empty, grow again, resurrect.
Mysteriously, in flickering whiteness, someone leaves, moves away into the
sea of spray.
Voices talk gently, sat at the train station, years pass, trains come go,
cloudless sky, alone, watching trains, on the tracks of time, seeing the last
line.
Across the sky, so many lives, villages, rivers, woods, days.
* * * * *
Dennis Thomas is an Australian poet who resides in Canberra. His work has appeared in The Lost Words, and The South Townsville micro poetry journal. He is currently preparing his fourth collection. His contributions to Dr. Hurley’s Snake-Oil Cure can be found here.
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