.
What fell, I felt, were razor flakes:
their edges sharpened my mistakes,
the flurry of regrets I’d stored,
confessions I found hard to make.
.
The breeze beyond my window soared
and down the empty street implored
two acrobats to skate on by,
a circus I could not ignore.
.
Theirs was a teasing way to fly,
a zigzag game of Tag the Sky.
A third slid in, a harlequin
of retail logos, smooth and sly,
.
spread-eagled first, then leaping wind
to sudden heights—and this is when
I realize they’re lifeless sheets:
and I’ve projected dance on them.
.
My heart’s eclipse cannot deplete
this joy I beam to paper feet
to animate a lonely street
to animate a lonely street
.
.
© 2015 Al Hudgins
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