After two inches of rain, these lungs are best understood as sails, and this body a creaking, yet willing, ship — the air is that promising, that fresh, that clean.
Seagulls on the city streets; the homeless, some just waking, others still asleep.
The great conjunction of Jupiter and Saturn — if these clouds persist, will Christmas still come?
History changes with the wind. It is the wake of the glad vessel, Present Tense.
December 21, 2020
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Categories: New Poems & Pieces
Tags: Christmas, Diaries, History, Homelessness, Journals, Jupiter, Rain, Saturn, Seagulls, Wind
William Michaelian 