December 7th, 2018


Picking Up Pinecones

I light a few candles, so
the moon is no longer alone.
My secret heart wakes
inside its draped cage
and cracks a song.
After a life of imagining, I notice the ceiling.
It is painted blue
with a border of pinecones.
I've spent my life in a forest.
Picking up new things,
will it never end?