do you read poetry?
what do you know of poets?
we are a distracted lot.
yes. I write and
call my scribbles poetry,
call it prose. it flows from the
pen in my hand in long
ribbons, to suggest ideas
of places that we have seen.
that I have seen without you.
that you may have seen without me.
outside my window
the world changes as the sun
drifts across the sky.
like Monet’s cathedral
day after day painted to capture
light, hue, and color changing.
i am no Monet. but i capture light
if not of day then of night, of dreams
and wishes, like clouds over beds
or rising above piazza fountains
that collect the coins of dreamers
who wish their dream real. a million
Pinocchios wait in a million shadows
for a blue fairy, for the tap of her
wand, so they may breathe.