poem

A poem for Sunday

Blossoms bloom. Petals unfurl towards sunlight. I rarely notice until they are almost gone. Sometimes, I find the blooms sailing down to the water, floating and then washed away. Everything right in the world, because temporary blossoms keep coming back. Their demise brings fruit and that fruit brings more blossoms— years passing into lifetimes.

fractured

words headline lead sentence paragraph search make sense of jumbled pieces words to fit the world together google facebook new york times trying to get past paywalls what is happening what will happen millions of answers no answer sleeping searching wake and shut it down. words don’t exist noise recedes the pounding of needing to… Continue reading