See me? Gray
hair flowing in the breeze, listening
for the quiet song that still makes the world
go ’round? That window there’s my
favorite of all my places, all these heart
-traces, cobbled homes I’ve tumbled
from seaglass, stone.
This cottage is built of books,
and salt. The ocean’s very near. The sky
is clear unless the day is gray – in which
I empty my fogful heart and start
all over again. Grin
at that silly sun.
Am I boring
you? This wild life rises, sets,
and I sit here still. Walk sometimes. Write
always. That’s it. Sit with me awhile, if you wish.
Stay. I’ve got all day.
Prompted by Miz Q. The title is a seed line from her list. This poem wanted to be both shorter, and longer. I herded it in a bit, but let it roam.