Saturday’s Child

We sat on the ledge at the overlook [Skyline Boulevard];

crushed cans of Special X and Budweiser, contemplated

lengths of rope [right there; a flock of swans taking flight].

She told me she was a hand-me-down, she’d confess to

anyone’s sins; [a black V swings over the bridge heading

north]; at midnight in the middle of summer she became

the way the truth the light of my life [the V is a thin line,

a speck]. You tell me longing is a tree, rooted and heaven

-bound; say everything can be measured: sadness, silence;

the distance between loss and redemption.

Alex Stolis lives in Minneapolis.

Photo Credit: Rockwolf

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