Cities Breathe in Abandonment

Wet woods suppressed mind,

bodies of moss chat towards the fog.

Breathe in responsibilities clasped

rooftops overthrown by land.

Numbers walled in by numbers.

Matter speaks silent.

Vines trail over my fingertips bridges.

Such a liar, so afraid,

not fond of regrets.

My years drift afloat

Marigolds outshined by damp willows.

I spoke the words I cried and viewed

tangy colors waving their fingers to crowds.

Where did they go? I ask the minutes,

left behind thick air to our shadows,

never front, focused on past.

Inverted mirrors don’t shatter the depths of blood.

Cracked rain, punctured windows.

I ask for one last direction,

whom shall lead my heart of desires to horizons,

not footsteps.