Writing in blocks of letters,
characters in unison,
steadily inked across the pages,
on lines paralleled and refined.
What a time to be on the grind,
grinding away for the ever-green day.
Momentarily, I listen
to the sounds of the ether.
High as the stone thrown upwards,
on gravity’s day off.
Stoned in space,
spatial recognizance before dawn breaks.
Silence fills the air as thoughts roam the inner regions,
and dreams take flight next door.
Elevated, without a trace.
My mind meanders meticulously, as the body undergoes repair.
This is peace, on the parkway.