with dew on clover

mushrooms spread like soggy fire;

a spider watches

The train station was magic

at first glance

with lights shining,

brass gleaming,

people streaming happily

at a different pace

from the outside.

But the digging left

a jagged scar,

a gash filled with

sadness borne of

injury and loss,

covering hurt with

sublime color and a

supreme rattle.

I don’t gaze out the window

all that much.

There’s a whole world

out there

not meant for me.

I’m allowed a patch of fog

and something to read.

I’ve seen my love

and he has a tweed jacket

with elbow patches.

Without anything to say

except look at the moon

please, before you lose

all sense of wonder.