I meet a man I've always known who is taller than his voice We walk among a silent crowd and talk of ancient poetry.
A long lost love dwells in the attic of his heart an Italian sports car that never leaves his garage.
In an orchard we toast with glasses of pink champagne The wine begins to tremble tangerines dance in the trees.
A car alarm cries in the parking lot complains over and over to no one but the birds shaken from frightened limbs of crape myrtles and sycamores
mountains crumble before our eyes but we care most about the wine running between our fingers like time we smile and embrace in fond goodbye.
About the Author: Sam Culotta is retired and lives in Southern California. He is the author of two books of personal essays and a book of poetry. His prose and poems have appeared in The Write Place At The Write Time. Buffalo Spree Magazine, Avalon Literary Review and Rockvale Review, as well as an anthology of works with Joe Green and Timothy Smith.
Image Credit: Bain News Service “Los Angeles Earthquake” (1920) Public domain photograph courtesy of the Library of Congress