…. Light that drips down the turnpike, onto roads and ways far away from any window. Blocks to build shelters and shields. Flags on flimsy poles. A neutral breeze busting cardoors and personalized licence plates. Paved over, I see a carcass dripping, a little yellow flower, smaller than a thumbprint. Rust-coloured shawl, poncho that holds … Continue reading Walkways – the poem – part 5 of 16