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Sam Shoyer Jan 2015
spinning and turning
the seasons
dissolve into
a continuous
merry-go round
of cold, heat
laughter, growth

green becomes
red and yellow
then brown,
Sam Shoyer Jan 2015
the dark navy hood of his jacket
stretches a few inches
past his forehead,
concealing his face

he pulls a wagon
full of blue salt
across the pavement
while a flurry of snow
falls around him

in a quick and deliberate rhythm
he tosses the salt
out like a serious flower girl
quietly ensuring
that it all goes
as planned
Sam Shoyer Jan 2015
all it knows is left behind
the voyager is alone

it wanders through the unknown
it wanders through the unseen

colors of never before
patterns and shapes of lost planets and moons
through dust and through soaring mountains,
the voyage is all it knows
Sam Shoyer Jan 2015
the white crane
with paper wings
like paper planes
sails up above
and down
the muddy milky brown
it changes flight
goes out of sight
but its peace
will never leave me
Sam Shoyer Jan 2015
and there…harold dreamt,
he dreamed of a boat,
one with a brown bottom,
and a rusty green rutter,
and it spun
and it spun,

the siem reap river,
of sunkissed toffee color,
he sailed on and on,
and stared at his brother,

he looked up above from the boat,
straight up at the hot steamy sun,
and his large white eyes,
stared up at a bird,

it was white and small,
with slender yellow legs,
that held a grace,
unlike any other

the crane flew in one circle above his head,
harold watched as it plummeted to the brown water below,
and at the last moment of its decent,
it shot up and across his horizon,
until it vanished
Sam Shoyer Jan 2015
tiny blue houses line the beige, red, and green grass that lines the runway

the city from above is a rainbow mosaic of bustling focus,
in markets, on scooters, in neatly trimmed parks

now it fades to white, a blending for from ground to sky
meeting, joining, the whispy clouds that lay, for now above
Hồ Chí Minh city
Sam Shoyer Jan 2015
there is a quick energy here
the scooters flow without caution
traffic courses like a delta
changing, dynamic in every moment

a city in the wake of pain
constructing, making anew
the streets are wet and *****
yet every bush is neatly trimmed
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