The Street Outside is Mine Alone

Memories of cities,

lit by stars never seen.

Green does not live here,

lives there…from the train I see it.

Though, I sit here…unmoving.

Could this be…

a line in a poem?

Could this be…

The line that feels?

I can feel heat on my face,

under the red sweatshirt

I have pulled over

to hide tearing rain.

Sun isn’t out. Heat comes

from my own radiation.


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