Soapbox Poet

Synchrony (a poem)

a woman strolling up Greenridge

goes slow, pace is steady, arms in

sync. Cars pause a few blocks down

and let space for her to cross the road

without knowing they are doing so.

A certain harmony hums softly… carefully.

The rogue lily blossoms just as the

lavender and oak candle ignites. It’s

a cozy pause, a safe space. Eyes lock

and aim to catch the words not said

with lips that carry intention. Songs

lay as backdrops to exacerbate the

gravity of existence. Life feels

a little in sync, once again.