gray mist
yellow light
orange path
green salsa damp, still air
the set of a staged production
as it is about to begin,
but i can feel the ending it’s the day of leaving
and it’s slipping by,
but i blink and
entertain a fantasy
we might freeze time by slipping into the village
painted on the truck,
taking sanctuary in the adobe church if i could only hold the moment
in my hand,
but it is already spilling
through my fingers yet we still have this you sitting across from me
your hand in mine,
in the present tense