Sitting, singing on the street,
Voice turned-off from drugs,
His fingers playing on and on.
They still recall an ancient song
That brought him love and hugs.
She pours her years into the child
Who digs soft, shallow sand.
He takes those years and buries them
To seed their future land.
The trolley takes me round and round
For free. I listen to the sound
Of Spanish first, some English, too.
The Sun knows what it has to do.
The sky will keep the water blue.
I board and leave the ground.
Linked to dVerse Poetics where Gina is hosting with the theme of balancing identities with poetic hum. I hope between those three identities there rises a poetic hum.