Delayed

is this silence

any different

than any other silence

mild suffocations

it is like our silences are part 

of a buried world never heard from

some mythical atlantis drowned out

beneath our small jersey town

I am part of what's left

of this quieted night

crowded out by the shadowy ghosts of crow

their shadows belong to these streets

this side of town

I long for more shadows

crossing my little river of words 

i am delayed at the muddy backwater 

of bass pike pickerel

slippery banks and 

submerging animals

the memory of them 

my friends' shouts

proud catches

tug at me

reward me

with a splash

of morning

light

jppestana december 28, 2016

JP Pestana