Sometimes a reminder of where I need not go.
The waiting on an ending to a book…I did not write.
Cracks in the pavement that have won the fight.
All…a baited oil in the turmoil.
So deep in the thicket…who am I fooling?
Playing puppeteer with a thread bare string.
Dear future me…
The drought of rejuvenation and powder keg sands…
Are up over the distance.
Quaintly placed beyond visibility.
Distant voices, distant rooms…
not intended for me to see.
Sorrow in the pines.
Unmarked beauty in an all too short thunderstorm.
Crevices where dead ends are luxurious and warm.
Constant Gardner in the belly of dread.
Whisking away the cobwebs…
in the forest that lives inside my head.