Many stone steps, going somewhere soon.

 

..

We crave the cobbling of days,
the ways that things unthrown

might add up to some pathway,
some intricate up. Some cup

more than half full. Runneth
over. We live in glass houses,

under glass ceilings, grass roofs
greener on a million other sides.

We mow. We know. We hide
our many selves behind time and

tide and the twisted masonry of
now. We build bridges of our sighs,

our whys, our wise men waiting.
Our wishes, want. Our whispered

haunted nothings. We pebble praise.
We raise one step at a time. Rise.

 

..

Prompted by Poetic Asides. 

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