the words “archery” and “acrid”
summer storm clouds
the sound of crows
the time — 11:11
dreams of flying
used book stores
an old pair of jeans
helvetica and garamond
I want to be an open vessel for otherwise unthought thoughts;
a tranquil glass of tequila, ready to be injusted and enjoyed.
A single rain drop or snowflake or tear stain or puddle splash;
content to have had one moment in the sun.
I want to be the echo of swallow calls in a cave;
light refracted from window to wall;
diamonds reflected from stilled waters.