Arc de Triomphe

Wrecking Ball

a cold bottle of beer,
the sun in a satisfied sky
going down along with it

green grass rolling out
in front of me, forever

god only knows
what all that was
behind me now

but even the wrecking ball
swings forward,
from time to time

small breeze in my face

small pull to my lips

malt, hops, barley rise

sun sinks

the moment meeting the moment
somewhere along the arc's
ascending angles