Jasmine Longing

The path is bricked,

long and straight towards the

grind of my liquid gray every day

and oft I am caught up in thoughts of

before hand.

My mind lingers on the what if’s and the

might be’s, whilst companions of the road

traverse to and fro to their own destinations.

But on occasion, I take a shorter route

by means of a different door in the parking

garage. Slipping past

the morning dog walker and the

weeded grass of city managed space

to walk near a house build of

longer days and longer nights

when revolutions were fading but

not yet faded… and it hits me:

the scent of Jasmine.

Not like a strike or a slam

but like a bright sun from a shaded space

wrapping me up in dreams of

maybe’s and possibilities

for four small steps till I turn

towards another road with other

obstacles and meanderingless ways.

And when it is over, and

the world sweeps me back to

the present I find myself in small pockets

of breath longing for the days

I remember to take

the shorter route.

 

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