Finding Utopia – Lind Grant

How much does a breath cost
In the small village on which we all tread-
the marketplace quiet in the evenings.
Of course, this is not about love,
Neither is it about the old man resting
Waiflike on feet solid as last night’s darkness
While his arms reach out to a fading morrow.
How much does hope cost on the sea side
While old boats wait for shaky anchors
To be released. Just as moths find their way
To streams of light, in ancient darkness.
We were here yesterday, drinking
A toast or two to another sunlight
But the moon has finally taken over
Though yet evening’s tail lights linger.

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