Pine Street

Jen Smat
Jen Smat
Oct 2, 2019 · 1 min read
Photo by JR Korpa on Unsplash

Just when I think
I’m all alone,
a lonesome song
from a small-town
troubadour
floats through
my open
window.
I picture him
on the street
below, leaning
against a gas lamp,
eyes closed,
pain pouring
into a melody
so full of
beautiful longing
that I see
his soul,
colorful
on this black-and-white
night, and
I wonder
if he knows
he’s playing
my song.

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