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And when I’m high
Like the sky
I can’t help but ponder
Is it luck
Or is this it

And when I sink
To the very depths below
Still, I ponder
Is it a phase
Or is this it?

The winds of time like a housemaid,
Imperfectly gathered every careless word
Stitched them with aching precision
Behold, a coat of shame.
With a warmth as heavy as the guilt
An unholy fusion of past and present
It had...

so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens

Isn’t it amazing,
That a burgeoning rose,
Or a magical sunset
Or a sweet song’s tune,
Or a full moon’s splendor –
Just the thought of sheer beauty:
Takes each of use –
With the certainty of a compass –
To just one...