Opinion
Rings — Poem —
Agadir, Morocco
In a city park,
with one-way road around,
we were grass-stained,
married by rings of light.
No fanfare, no confetti
like the trash outside
the nearby church structure.
Just gusts of wind swinging
branches and homemade kites
away from bright plastic playthings
on their gated playground.
In brief moments,
many lifetimes pass,
of which the wind
constantly sings,
and together
we learn humility
from mites massacred
at the sap on a fallen leaf,
sticking to me
for very dear life.