The First Instant

I’m coming
to a pile of love
an empty bed
a full page,
crisp sheets,
a tattered
a weary
a bit wet too,
the rain survives
the call
of my heart
as paper
to let
me think
of you.

Blue skies, sad skies, my skies

Taken with a Lomography Action Sampler

I looked outside

and saw my friends

blue eyed frosted cynics

inviting me in.

As they laughed and shook

their foreign heads

I asked,

Is the moment

more important

or the person?

Glass doors

they seemed opaque

but strangely

filtered some light in,

tiny streams

of yellow murky brown,

through the snow

of people

who belonged here.

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