one last new york summer
perched on my balcony
high above
a cloudless soft river
the hudson by name
down river nyc echoes
dance across so many
memories
driftwood
it calls to me
adrift
as are my sips
long lost lips
sweeter than any morning dreams
just shadows fallen
across of miles of concrete
walking
bike riding
hitch-hiking
running
always far roaming
no place to call home
not even
her so soft lap
just a moment to rest my eyes
always falling
always calling
to her many colored sighs
oh
to love
such were their dances
of beauty
river rhyme
sing your ocean song
in your drifting heart
just one more longing
cave carving
traces
where
never one dared
to call me home
I'm not sure by "longing" whether you were wanting to be home or out there on the road seeking new experience. Either way, your poem speaks of adventure.
“The woman or man who is a poet, or fiction writer, or playwright, or all of these, is engaged constantly in a jazz ballet of vocabularies, passions, genders, histories, perspectives, death, love, and life. The music of revelation announces itself to
Love ya!
Jane
Ron