blue skies poetry

You never asked why, or how I found your village
despite not knowing its name or the alarming language
I heard while walking towards you.

It was the map you drew, years before,
in that rented room off Lang Suan

You had arrived on an overnight bus
doubtful as Bangkok morning sky
till your fingers retraced the indelible route
to a point on a curve of the river.

You became more necessary
than the space between words,
and I will be walking towards you again
breathing sunset over the river
after the rain.

~ Vincent MacIsaac

Vincent MacIsaac is a Canadian resident of Phnom Penh. He works as a ghost writer and editor.

Filed under: Vincent MacIsaac by akublik Date 2 September, 2010