Plucked

Flat roofed garages, expanding up, over and beyond;
consuming abandoned cars and tarmacked roads;
foundations dug deep, where roots should burrow.

Vast seas of greyness, housing nothing of use;
no householder steps over concrete slabs of
pavements; rivers dividing breath from the
abandoned depths of simple storage solutions.

Godly hand reaches down from blue sky to
pluck me up and away from death; away from
my descent into these grand entrances;
grand entrances to crypts for giants.

Wisps of golden sands and amber stones wipe out the grey.
I am slashed apart by the sands of a desert beach, as I walk
out upon

water.

Copyright owned by Jay Cool, November 2018