The Golden
Gate Bridge
is a harp.

It’s one
for a giant.

Yet the harp has
never been played.

If it would the
sound would shine.

Everyone would
hear it all
over the world.

The bridges ropes
turning to a line of
raindrops though.

Rush hour
would agree.

The fish long
to be free.

The butterflies
are blind.

Stars fly through
like sand.

Trees reaching
towards it.

Yet no one
hears the pulse
of a promise.

A new dawn is mourning now
Time to wake        all is motionless
A cloak covers the sheep in the meadow
The fox in the hollow
The bear in its cave

It’s the end of today
The curtains close over the stage
No one ever sees the other side
When the applause fades

Sparks are felt
Belief found in not giving up
It’s just the beginning, or is it not
Tomorrow on the horizon
Waiting for sun rays

Just a few more seconds
Left to go
Don’t lose hold
Hang on

See you somewhere
After the world
Goes cold

Halos line the stretch
And light greets dark
Where sunsets
Are no more
Than once the same

If a raindrop
Was bigger
Than human size
What would be
Seen in its eyes
Could you step
Up to it
And go inside
Would it be
The span of
An ocean
or the size of a door
If you walked
Inside
Would you swim
Or sink to the floor
If we were its size
What would we see
Looking up
Would grasshoppers
Be giants
And clouds
Vast galaxies

Imagination

fills the gaps in your knowledge –


with blacks upon black.