Miles Apart
poetry
from the Hyland Harris collection; for educational purposes only
Miles Apart
His music is not of the sun
for harsh and loud it burns.
His is as cool as night’s
limbs expanding into space.
We disappear in his trumpet
twinkling at stars floating by.
The day always returns
whether we're ready or not.
Hopefully to a gentle snare
sunglasses on the bed stand.
And curtains open to a
New Orleans trumpet.
And if its streaming
light rays of joy.
Are still too far of ear
at least we've made
it to the window.



Sunglasses on the bed stand is such a slick little detail~! Feels like the morning had a rough night and is still trying to look cool about it~
You hit all the right notes with this one, Ray!