by Robert Okaji
The difference in street and river.
Of sanctity and dreams, bones and water.
He offers prayer and thought, but no refuge.
The bruised sky continues weeping.
Frightened, the dog paces her narrow island.
Tents flap in the rooftop breeze.
I sit in comfort, watch the screen,
flowers, like gravestones, lining the walls.
Robert Okaji lives in Texas and occasionally works on a ranch. The author of five chapbooks, he holds a BA in history, and writes in a backyard shack. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Panoply, Riggwelter, Kissing Dynamite, Vox Populi and elsewhere.