Michael

It has been a scary long time since I wrote a poem. I am not entirely sure if it is the brain drain of summer or a fixation on french fashion, moving furniture around in my house, or a need to turn off in anticipation for the next school year. 

But yesterday I found myself smelling images.

Michael 

days slip through my fingers

droplets of sand 

wearing castles

i woke

discovering grey and lines and creaking bones

that yellow house is brown 

the foundation raising with each bellow

trees are tall, tall

and grass crunches 

while I whirl

blow a bubble

and snatch a star

making music is different now

walking softly

yelling at things that cross our paths, quickly

melodies web across the continent

connecting to a million and one

hold your hands, open 

breathe, be love, begin

catch that hour

build