Thom NorgangOrdinary people in flannel and jeans
with ears thin as butterfly nets
catching bits of overheard conversations
phrases wrapped in tufts of feathers
painful words, still breathing.
They see a harmonica moon
hear a saxophone´s voice while splitting wood
fall in love with a moment remembered,
a bit of melancholy in a front pocket
is worn like a boutonnière.
Sitting in small skiffs on foggy mornings
they pull colorful nets through noisy coffee shops
gently discarding flopping thoughts
pocketing a star fish shaped phrase with delight
or listening to sea glass blue relationships unfold.
Awake in the night they hear the moon rising,
open their windows and lean far out to inhale
tasting the clear white sweetness they can´t reach
tipping their heads towards the light
two kindred spirits, whispering back and forth.
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