Something Else

on the southernmost edge

of some mostly worn uneven place

of rock sun dust

rivers from the mountains are no more

there are no flowers but there were

an old man sits smokes in his aloneness

the voices in his distance cease to exist

he struggles to be

sees the last pieces of sunsets

swept away from what he was

across the hard dirt road

her summer flowers grow freely

her garden is only hers to see

she asks her own clouds to open

rainwater flows through her fingers everything grows

at her feet a kitten plays in the roses thorns

she believes she sees her beauty for the first time

or her horizon melting deep purples

or maybe just something else

Something Else

JPPestana

1.13.2021