john rose

john ross

john rose in the veil of night
to pick up words strewn over
electric wires.
his heart responds to
the green-yellow-red
of stoplights.

“go, sweetheart,go!”
i say.

but he says,
“wait! i’ll stop right here!”

always able,
yet contained
by consternation.

why be apprehensive, dear?

your soul

(words, heart, and thoughts
alike)

is always
more than this world
could ever collogue
against.

for jrh

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