Silence sits.
My heart wanders in connections
long past spent.
Gaps sealed with concrete
“This is easy.
All you need to break through
Is laughter”
I tell myself
“And the pages will write themselves–
The end will become clear
as the middle does.”
It is just a rhyme in nature
I miss content and hope
for love ever after for all.
This should be a silent story–
this side of writing.
Personal and at best volatile
wavering in tone
and purpose.

I check under hoods of cars,
trees, and chained bicycles
but the next scene
doesn’t speak my name
or know my number.
It is a just dream
coiled in a maze of pots.