Telephone Poles

I could count the colours on your face,
Like you were a tar-browned, staple haven.
Piercing the branches in your uncouth rising,
Strong in all but fiercest storm (we all snap
once in a while.)

You shift and sort conversations like a sieve,
Dropping names and lines into simultaneous spaces.
I have run along your wire, my words dancing
Like spiders on skin, squirrels with electric goosebumps.

I could count the colours on your face,
Made of postings from your momentary friends,
Permanently pock-marking your weather carved cracks
While hues run with the watermarks of rain.

I will save them all, classifieds and lost & founds,
Sitting on the highest shelf I can reach
To make sure I look up to you. Your silhouette
Shoulders birds. And, well, I’ve always been
A little flighty.

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2 thoughts on “Telephone Poles

    1. I wasn’t sure that phrase conveyed what I intended it to, but I’m quite glad you liked it! Interpretation is the beauty of poetry. (:

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