Weighing sleep against
productivity, I write
into a new day.
All nighter
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Weighing sleep against
productivity, I write
into a new day.
Some–like white wine–are
best when young. My French Bordeaux
grows better with age.
Stalled out. He comes. Starts
car. Buys breakfast. Drops what he’s
doing. Just for me.
Wisdom’s spark. Fortune
cookie poetry message
ignites hope change growth.
Carbs like clouds. When gone
clarity returns. Blue sky
thinking open mind.
Kitchen windows fogged,
oven-baked chicken is the
scent of homecoming.
West Coast starting line
pavement our road map we head
east back to our roots.
Strands layered, length chopped,
I change, shed years, fears, regrets.
Why’d I wait so long?
Some days it’s enough:
an absent child’s return, a
dog’s rapt love, a kiss.
Spiraling flakes, like
small hands opening wide, feel
their way down to earth.