04.21.2020

by storm

beads

 

there’s the moon

and the glowing flower cones

of the chestnut’s replying

there’s the sirens

and a blushing arrives

where the morning will roll in

there’s a birthday

you won’t attend

touch and laughter you’ll

rap

in silk and ribbon

lay down, next to a box

of milk teeth, glass with coltsfoots

shopping lists, wish lists

receipts and savored place cards

a tray of beads and friend’s

spare keys; there’s an own life

of each thing and a blessing

in the innocence among them