angled all right

Poem #68 from a series of poems drawn from the imagination and collected as: a Bachelard reverie.

Back to Bachelard and me – Introduction

he sat down
on the east line
leaned back
against the north post

the light played
across him
to burn his shadow
on the ground

stretched into
the west plane
an elongated
dark spectre

he shaped himself
to the night

whistling a soft tune
in the still air

doing nothing
in the streetlamp’s angle

right at home

© Frank Prem 2017

Bachelard and me Poem #69: detail – nothing (from Mars)

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