When the company
leaves,
while they keep us in their memories,
things take on an added
significance
as we go about our lives.
The light is brighter,
objects
stand out
starkly against one another,
and the brightly hued paint on
buildings
stings our eyes.
For a while we feel like characters in a novel.
For a time there is a plot,
a reason for this.
Harold
Bowes edits Alba: A Magazine of Short Poetry. His work has appeared
in or is forthcoming from Snow Monkey, Pig Iron Malt, Portland
Review, Tundra, Acorn and Black Bough.
