this poem may be habit-forming,
causing the need to read others,
wrestle pen. it’s a gateway
scribble, really, that first taste
of rhythm-rhyming zen you
didn’t know you needed. to
breathe. a smudge of sky. a wisp
of why. the resounding crack of dawn.
..It’s Quadrille Monday over at dVerse. I’m hosting. Come play.