Poetry

Look, sometimes it sings

and sometimes moans.

It write itself through

effort and splurge

from healing dreams.

Sleeping allows dreaming

and sometimes, but sometimes,

we catch a dream in rhythm

- not making it necessary –

but crackling and interesting

because it’s truly sad

to meet people walking

vacantly through an empty

wilderness – sighing,

reminding of ourselves

and, in all the words, one

authentic line might catch

a heart in ways not

logical or thought through.

When it works, that’s the work:

like, one letter could momentarily

turn this world to another

fractionally more unstable

but nascent and waving.

Please come along, it’s your time.