Poetry

Don’t make things
 Worse

We couldn’t give you the sky
 For your own
 But we wanted to show you
 What you could have
 If you wanted

The leaves
 Are amassed
 In a mound

I had a dream of falling
 From a dream chair

Collections of things
 Require, first
 A Taxonomy

The cloud speaks to the rain
 In curiosity
 Of tidings nearer earth
 And what may lie below

The smell of Wet earth and grass

The whispers of a storm
 Far out to sea
 Mumble across brown sugar sand

Squirrel
 Squirrel
 Where do you go