Tom Turner (Sometime In The Late 1960s) — Image Created with the Help of Technology and AI
Afternoons in the backyard, our lives like photographs
Yellowing elsewhere,
in somebody else’s album,
In secret, January south winds
Ungathering easily through the black limbs of the fruit trees.
What was it we never had to say?
Who can remember now-
Something about the world’s wrongs,
Something about the way we shuddered them off like rain
in an open field,
convinced that lightning would not strike.
We’re arm in arm with regret, now left foot, now right foot.
We give the devil his due.
We walk up and down in the earth,
we take our flesh in our teeth.
When we die, we die. The wind blows away our footprints.
— Charles Wright
Modern Footprints On The Trail — Image by kenne
Surfing Off The Galveston Island Seawall — Image by kenne
