Traffic

Sometimes, comfort is unexpected

By Brent TharpPublished 4 years ago • 1 min read

Floating, weightless, intertwined,

Sounds in the street below, mimicking heartbeats.

Heat breathes, invisible on skin,

As the sun burns an arc on its world.

^ ^ ^

The sense of motion, outside and in,

Trucks move, weaving through spaces.

Temperature swings, a primitive metronome,

Cars burst onto avenues, pace quickening.

A stillness envelops a sacred place,

While outside the sun begins to fade.

^ ^ ^

Darkness settles in,

An eclipse.

Stillness propelled to act,

Sun penetrates the dark,

Thrusting its power and heat upon the earth.

The motion not yet subsiding,

^ ^ ^

The sun finds its way upon a doorway arch.

Sliding through the pitch veil,

A sliver of light becomes a flood.

I edit STEM books. I like writing, cats, and wine, though not necessarily in that order.

I was raised by wolves in a small forest somewhere in Middle America.

Why don't ketchup bottles squirt correctly? All or nothing seems grifty to me.

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