by Sheryl White
Early mist
the roads scan
            quiet, dustless.
Dew sleeves stems
of field grass
            transparent silver
like mercury glass glowing
in low light
            cool light

Mid-morning promises
wider travels
like forecasts              
just that much off      
            with the sun’s slant.
Plants tug at bees
or expire
            await the swell of fruit
            seasonal adjustments 
fish sleep
            fin the current’s
            sweep, eyes wide.                              
Maps fade
            in afternoon sun
                        directions alter
            fingers trace.
Night reveals signs
            red lines, bright lines
my blue-lined river.
Sheryl White is an artist and writer living in Boston. Her writing has been published in Ibbetson Street Press, Blast Furnace, Solstice Literary Journal, Poetry Quarterly, and The Boston Globe, and is upcoming in Split Rock Review.In 2016, she received a Massachusetts Cultural Council Poetry Finalist Grant and Mayor of Boston Poetry Program award.

© 2017, Sheryl White