Ge0rge Wu

Child, your future is best left unspoiled, so I may be too vague, or not vague enough. Don’t be afraid of  the contents within this letter . . .

I await you in the open grass.

The rolling plains roam my mind.

Dark-swept winds claw the horizon,

Damp with the promises you left unanswered.

Meet me at the River’s End

where waters slow and sink

where bank gives way to the bottomless depths

below the siren’s screams

Meet me in the Mountain Shade

My oldest friend,

so old and almost forgotten, golden memories like her gleaming leaves disconnecting, dying, decaying in the brown of the brush below. 

Looking from a plane, glowing

streets, like spiraling

spider webs

knitted on the elder plains,

out of hope, out of pride.

Crossings of the intertwined veins 

If the sky above you 

should turn dark and full of clouds

Paint your palette blue and grey

look out on a summer’s day

We all need somebody