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Traffic
a poem about change
Nov 4, 2019
I traffic in possibilities, turning them like colors
on the Rubik’s cube, hoping for a pattern, endless
combinations just one square away from what I seek.
I remember the dates of deaths
of friends, so many scattered
throughout the months of every year.
In the year that you’ve been gone nothing
has changed, nothing has remained the same
The same arguments echo through the lines
New faces morph into images found in dreams.
In the end gravity is the only thing that’s certain
Love dies, loyalties fade, flesh and joints weaken,
dreams and meaning dissolve like sand in surf.
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Copyright 2014 Marguerite Floyd all rights reserved
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