Truth creates its own momentum.
Slick moisture left on south facing
walls of inner-city subway tunnels.
Phosphorescent mold lounging
in nooks like wetted hope. It sieves
fine and white in steamed passages. Rises,
cools, settles again. Coming back
transcended, as thick black lines of
melting tar on the playground heat up
and glaciers fall back across the land.
Posting w/ dverse poets on this breath-of-fresh-air day. May Happy be a large part of your New Year!