Coming Home

The water-tower loomed

over the tiny town of Broken Springs;

I was lost in amazement,

bewildered by the absence of absinthe-laced wings

like the scent of honeysuckle sent from heaven.

Big-city debasement faded from eleven long years

and a lifetime of tears

entombed ‘neath the shiny reflection

of distant reflections of happier times, or so I thought,

of childhood rhymes my innocence wrought.

Who knew I’d crave that insouciant icon

over the tiny town of Broken Springs…

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