How these streets
Of busy people,
White-lighted, foolish
Proximity, never see each
Other, never touch.
Such is dreaded apprehension -
Spiral steel into the clouds,
Dizzy in the afternoon, paused
Still life, shackled altitude.
Never knew the Lonesome
Compact, ‘til distant ambiguity
Tossed itself
Across horizons, beyond
The moon’s red sheppard sea.
The other side is always
Greener, experiential, forbidding -
As if distance kills, fully knowing
It never acts alone.
That’s these streets of
Busy people, faceless,
Oblivious - young woman in
The yellow dress
I see you.
Kelly Vinal
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/distance-3/
