The river is empty.
Empty of water, I mean.
Do the river bed and banks
retain their meaning?
The sky is clear.
Clear of clouds, I mean.
Did the sky steal the river
and blow this town heading east?
The old man is dead.
There is no love in his heart, I mean.
Do his skin and flesh
retain his soul under these circumstances?
A young couple sitting at a cafe table
text each other.
copyright © 2019 Kenneth P. Gurney
