As both hands are ripped from the grass.
Higher and higher into the air he soared,
Raising his arm,
Straightening his elbow,
Extending his fingers,
Stretching further and further to touch
the vast smooth reflection,
of the bouncing waves,
a blanket to the golden coin
dipping into Hades’ might,
Beneath the green dust of the Milky Way*
*Inspired by Sunday after Sunday after Sunday and the opening scene in Green Dust of the Milky Way, two novels by my Great- Uncle Ben Herman
By: Eric Friedman
By: Ford Duvall
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