All these smiles
(that could be) -
cutting out cookie dough,
ripping up gift wrap,
snow crunching under boots,
fume of warm coffee grounds,
tender touch of the lips
-
lay (spilt) at my feet;
like the blue ocean
mist flowing on
at the cold feet of the moonwake;
like the eggshells & yolk &
white staring
at the feet of a shell-shocked child.
Do we take the courage to pick up the shards and dream on?
... Yes, I do.