Scattered Voices

in wanting to tell the story

I keep seeking pace and the sound

this space has me watching a sinking floor

I am chasing the words

a few lines can do the trick 

and the landscape appears

words become images

our own, not necessarily the same

recent days feel heavy and stark

a feeling that America’s romance continues to fade

doubts of tomorrow’s arrival have been overstated 

as I watch  the wheels turn north

the leaves will be gone soon

the smell of the rain tells me so

autumn branches will reflect in the glass

as brown paper bags line the street

gyms will sit empty 

no games played, no dances scheduled

siding with something is a precarious step these days

sounds that aim to bury me are not what I am seeking

longing for the self I have rarely seen

I will lend a hand

find the stage that suits your desires

no need for the leading role, just a bit of the light