Poetry

Train of thought

The skies are dark, the chugging

rising from a growl into a beating drum

as the tracks curve up to the sky.

The clouds shift into giant birds, spreading their wings

to chase away the smog and

drift beside the train as it gathers speed

heading to its conclusion

that has yet to be built.

Poetry

Just drifting

I have a little boat

made of brown,

overlapping leaves.

As it floats down the steady, gentle stream,

I lie back

and hook

my legs over the side

so my toes

kiss the cool water.

The movement makes a ripple.

The ripple knocks

against my little boat,

lulling me into a soft doze.

I walk in and out of dreams,

drifting along

enjoying the journey,

unconcerned by where

I might end up.

Just like my little boat,

edging on,

unconcerned,

down the stream.