Commit
Three small tokens of remembrance
wrapped in copper, silver, gold
Oddly shaped that qualifies
as curious
They would like to see your dreams open
on Mondays
in the morning
I tell them
spring is only
painted upon waking
Bend the air for us
they plead
I tell her
how words come and go
Ideas the stuff of stumbled over
Strewn without a thought
to where they land
Tangled in the sheets
of unmade distance
to the bathroom
and back to bed
I want to linger here amidst
the ephemera
littered
Loss of words