the pink and blue bleed into each other
there is not a point where either start or end
just where the sun burns past lowslung clouds
and after staring for a while,
a pattern casts, trailing with my blinking eyes
lifting and falling like life under a microscope
as I run my gaze across the horizon.
it’s nice to stop here
on the corner amidst the sea of people
pushing past to home.
darting through i notice no one looking up
lightning lets lines frame frowns
then eyes lift as mouths open,
fleeting fireworks from me to you.
the good news is,
i’m almost there.
it takes some distance to reflect,
to stop, think, process, wait.
admitting you are wrong is one thing,
what you do to address it is
another thing entirely.
some people talk a good game,
revealing little except results.
both playing cards close to the chest,
& from beneath the table.
what’s the point in just speaking,
about things you want to do.
when these things could already be removed
from the lists you’ll never write.
before the paper peels,
the train is missed,
& dreams are out of date.
time spent treading water,
isn’t wasted when,
you use it to survive.
observations of a busy street.
a book store smells a certain way,
the comfort of a million stories.
time spent will unlock its promise.
a ball of twine is a welcome sight,
the promise of something to be made or mended.
a couple, drinks water in different ways.
one from the glass, one straight from the gym.
a friend pulls a friend away from a passing bike.
the way they smile at each other afterwards,
suggests they’ve been friends for a while.
moments later, we’ll be someplace else.
minutes later, we’ll be gone.