On One’s Arrival
No doubt you seem bug eyed
as you wash ashore
towards starched sentinels
of five borough hives.
Your hopeful flesh cuts
thick air in quick strides
over silent ones below,
who dream through another lens
in the full light of dark
and who cannot see us.
Trundling forward with hope
carved from brownstone rock;
your eyes swallowed whole
like the hours in time’s cortège.
©️Orion Foote, 2023.
Visions of Orion Poetry 