I want to uncover from real to real,
though I can barely get beyond imagined.
The role my supposings play, though, makes it fun:
a biography of air, of ants, or aunts,
a piece of driftwood once a tree.
A foundation crumbles,
a cemetery stone speaks.
My face in the mirror
draws down.
I wander long hours, imagining
why this was, or what that might have been,
what we might be.
Wow! Very deep.
and the photo is a bridge…. mmm
Deb, that’s my favorite place on our local bike path, with ducks swimming below and a trail stretching on for miles ahead.
Mom, thanks for looking in on thoughts that try to go somewhere. It was good seeing you!