On Waiting for a Bus on the Lower East Side
in flight
Sometimes
I am lithe, lean and sun bronzed,
running surely over green landscapes
arriving at the vista where the world lies sunlit
and newborn before me.
Sometimes
I am dark wings born of fire,
trailing sparks
coursing through vibrant blue skies
towards a soft, dusky horizon.
Sometimes
I stand and watch the man across the street
piss into the potted plant.
Is he too
all of these things?
I am afraid to ask.
All photos and writing on this blog copyright J.A. Siderius
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