Aged Mirrors (85) Poem by Raquel Angel Nagler
Aged Mirrors (85)
The little freedoms of the evening.
We lose our maps.
We travel in our own feet,
In our own steps.
It's late in our soul.
We long to say light truths,
The ones that wouldn't tear our lips.
Dusk. The end of the road:
A shady plaza
That leads only to itself.
---
From Aged Mirrors - trilogyofthemirrors.com
Saturday, November 6, 2021
Topic(s) of this poem: travel
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8/12/2026 9:59:17 PM # rel_20260811T123139Z_a98d49b
