Early spring
Overpass footsteps overpassing industrial water.
Gas station bananas and purple glittering
pigeons on wires,
the rhythm of traffic,
and the last dots of snow
clinging to the old  hills,
older than memory.

To let go of the vision slope
of the slope of the linear regression
of a small town wedged between the directions,
to melt with the snow into the river,
and be part of the rushing waters


just a day dream.