Gray rails curve left
They guide the slowing commuter train
One more mile before the downtown station

Through the window
I study the west skyscrapers
Against the morning’s light-blue background

The tallest building rises black
Its straight edges sharp
All the way up

And just above
Is the wisp of a cloud
White and round

Wait…that’s not a cloud
It’s the moon!

That tower is nowhere close
To touching it


1 Comment

Filed under Poetry

One response to “Tower

  1. Nice, Jim – it all ends up being a matter or perspective, doesn’t it?

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