Omega Point

Reduce me to a stain of mud

A speck of dust

A grain of sand

Still I can be an orchestra

A choir of me

A one-man band.

 

Still I can be the final drop

A straw at which you’ll clutch

A tiny thread to make a knot

A trace of gentle touch.

 

 

Asphalt

The day ceased to turn into the night.

Daylight is hiding under a thickening layer of fog

The rain hits the road and clears my sight

Drop by drop.

 

Full moon bows and curtseys in the sky

Moonlight is spreading its tentacles over my thoughts

A girl on a sidewalk, ghost of smile

Overcoat.