In the dark, in the morning on my way to work passing the line of kids at the bus-stop: All their faces look like jack-o-lanterns by the glow and the flicker of their smartphone displays.
The night sky is full of stars Someone connected them all to make stories. Were the stories always there, Or did we make them so? Your life is a constellation: Find the corners, find the story.
The hook is a hold in the rock where I first put my foot when I want to climb.
Creator has put a smidge of pink on the cheek of the sky to dress herself for evening. She does so again in the morning, To cover the sins of the night.
My heart swells at the thought of being who I thought I could “Can” is the operative part of could Forward-looking, or past.
Seagull stands on dumpster, this is mineEye is black and round as a stone, deepThe eye is as honest as my dog’s, There is nothing else there