Gray matter

underfoot the piece
meal of it

what was once gray sand
now glitters under lichen

after dark the lunar
landscape of it

shivery with crickets
dense with ambiguities

the way bare wood weathers
or old snow collects grime

aging in place
lost in a maze of cracks

i have taken my micro
dose of humility

the high line buzzes
with ghosts of power

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.