Mention the somber
thread of life
linking us together.
Mention the spill of coffee grinds
plummeting on the sticky ground.
Mention the call of hope
being or freeing
a sort of melancholic sound.
Melanin or mulch,
today is a process showing too much.
The brush of time slows,
as predicament distracts from progress,
yet there is something nice between us
and it flowers like small purple
morning glories at dawn.