Great deals unravel
On the forecourt of sound
migrated wishes devolve
reasons for keep
on the start of the race
the feet fall with quiet thuds
hands on the ground leaves settle
around the haven of shade
harvest of marked skins
the parade of shadows through the dusk
the evenings spent so
moments longed for but he’s forgotten it
the way she bit her lip
in a foreign accent
Nicholas Alexander's Poetry