A Place Untouched By Lines
Sometimes,
when all is well with the night,
and contented street lights
buzz and blink murmured assistance
to the occasional late traveler,
I lie awake and dream of a place
untouched by lines.
Sometimes,
as the midnight train
rumbles thunder through the shroud
of summer night on the Plains,
I imagine that I can step
out of the persistent river of time
and plant a heavy foot on the shore.
And sometimes,
when my apologies fail sincerity
and drama serves heightened flaws,
I can remember to forget pride
and move upriver towards the past,
stepping into my place
where it lies untouched by lines.
Copyright 1998 by Ian Mosher.
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