Treasure Island

Diana Rosser


Flight


A spiders web breaks the ocean of dark,
Alexandria‘s matrix, gold under
the stretching wing.
My eyes catch with wonder
the cross of night over Africa’s start.

How is the city that has left its mark
on wisdom and war? Do you still slumber,
or will unrest
cause the sound of thunder
once more, to tear your heated streets apart?

The lights fade into the returning dark.
Easing the chair, I tuck myself under
the free blanket.
Removed from the wonder
I cross the night into Africa’s heart.

Submitted: Sunday, February 05, 2012

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