by Michael Keshigian

Staring from the moon
in a dream
I saw people of Earth
meander aimlessly

from minute cavities,
following burrows
to dutiful destination
and back again.

Some moved faster
others carried more
and few were prostrate to fantasy.
Yet above each hill

hovered ghosts of intentions
not resting, but preparing
markers with singular openings
where well meaning will be placed.

Illya's Honey Literary Journal

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