One poet thinking,
holding a universal thought.
One degree of separation exists between bird and beggar.
The bird finds a new lookout.
I berate my heavy eyelids after a night of TV.
I could have earned my red eyes working at words.
Sharing poems, extending words to teach;strangers, connecting, creating community.
I am behind in my organization, the folders on my desk need names and homes.
A work day lost; my morning head is irritated
by this rude awakening of wellness.
My daily scribbling lost, on a yellow notepad,
in a meeting; instructing me on how to reflect on things.
My lighter hair streaks, fading and brittle, reveal the darker source;
these features that don’t matter – not now, not yet.
After a swollen-eyed night
with his ankle on mine, a paperweight.
Waiting for this life to begin, I linger in dreams for
someone to happen, and a golden band around my finger.