I want to dance on the Risman Plaza
with strains of "Fake Plastic Trees" in my ears
and the fountain running behind me.
Dwarfed by the buildings that impose and remind me that this is my home.
The gentle breeze and pink setting sun cast no shadows on me.
The campus is illuminated, each lamp a tiny moon...
or spotlight casting its rays over me on this stage.
"It wears me out."
The flags blow gently by
and the cold spray of a sideways rain touches my arms gently...
and I am over powered by memory.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
0 comments:
Post a Comment