A circular room
full of light
with paint splatter
on the floor
and in mind’s eye
you can see
the ghost
of a long gone
easel
sitting in the center
as the whisper
of hours
cast shadows
like a sundial
on aged wood
Late spring
and a last dusting
of snow
on elevated peaks
like powdered sugar
sifted fine and white
over sweet beignets
lets go for a drive
and find a bit
of winter’s bite
still alive
in the warmth
of spring’s
soft breezes
Rainy days
bring muddy fields
and wet grasses
to soak through
denim hems
and chill the skin
beneath
and yet
hair dripping
and water trailing
down nape’s flesh
I look up
and smile
as the world is
washed clean
Lets dance
in mud puddles
and splash around
where ducks watch
from edges
and will give us
a crown
for being the
most inventive
of all the fowl
for surely
we’re not fish
able to walk
upon ground
Frayed and fuzzed bent and broken some days the pain of life’s bumps and bruises feel like too much and all that is wanted is a different kind of fuzzed not frayed but faded.
I want to go out
among tall trees
and open fields
and lie
among moss
and lichen
to look up at the sky
and make stories
from the cast
of shadows and light
upon fluffy tufts
of atmosphere