Everything is poetry.
It is where our minds go.
To tide pools of boiling light,
stray stars,
urchins of white stone.
In the cage of emptiness
are words for our souls,
waiting for voices.
Mixing paint in our eyes.
Rhythming for the waves
of oceans,
passages off the edge
of forever.
The genesis of shadows.
The enfolding of summer
in its wine.
The passionáto of love.
The meteor, burning
with the flame of stars
in its tale.
Throw your words to the wind
and fall like dust to a painted
desert.
Give them to a stranger,
never to pass as a stranger again.
And of life,
ten lives for every life
burned to ash,
and no one lost
without a rose
pressed between leaves
of a life’s diary remembering.
So it is for everyone
looking for an horizon,
a poem inside their heart.