Walking, worrying words,
a story, unwritten,
wandering loose,
unwinding and winding.
Somewhere near the bridge,
the words let me go.
A tune takes its place.
I see the sunlight, setting.
Shadows, working their way
up the westerly facing storefronts,
solstice sunlight, gilding.
To look too closely at the
workings of my
mind doesn’t work.
Neither does not looking.
But to see the sunlight
is a blessing.
2 comments:
This one reminded me of what my daughter had just been saying, about how she's struggling with her art (painting, animation and such) at the moment, so she's going back to her writing. I read her the first seven lines, and she nodded.
Sunlight is truly a blessing. I miss it here. Too many grey skies.
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