it's been a year or more...a season of intensity and stress and joy and grace...but not a season for writing. it's been a season for talking, for feeling, for connecting, for reaching out, and for quietness.

however. 

this little poem popped into my head today.

and here it is.

the words of poems are waking up

testing the limits of their shiny bubble

stirring in their long soft nest of fog and dismay

the light calls them

the stars beckon

the morning dew bathes them

in possibility

and at night

oh, at night

they run around in circles inside my brain

chattering and fidgeting and banging

begging to be let out after so long