by Christopher Raley
I even woke late
and emerged without coffee
under a grey sky broken
by soft cracks of light.
The streets were still wet
but the stereo was loud
over the sticky sound of tires.
The coffee house was warm
with easy talk and smiling baristas.
I had to cut the edges
of my eyes to see a little more
but for all this the sky
would not move, just hung
suspended as if retaining
the implications of choice.
Advertisements
