September

Heavy clouds had fallen from their perches in the sky. The sounds of breath panting anxiously for air. Fingers nervously seeking something to touch through the haze. The air was wet and drops of water formed on the pores of skin uncovered.

It was the dark glow of September. The glow of the moon hidden by low level clouds.

It was sickening. The silhouettes of friends lost in the dark. The smell of moss. Shivering insects. Faint street lights.

It was quarter after two.

An island. Ahead in the mist. Called to us.

Together we made our way throwing off the chains of night. Of sky. Of moon.

We moved united. Step for step, but at once alone.

There were many more islands to find salvation before morning. Each more gratifying than the last.

To find salvation before the rising sun, if only temporary.

Reviews

[W. Barrett Munn]

You have a genuine mind of a poet. You seem to follow rather than lead your writing, and it is always better to find out what you are thinking than to know.

Winston

[jacob erin-cilberto]

If only we could find that island of unity....too much stepping alone these days...
I really like the imagery with the clouds falling from their perches.
nicely done,
j.