No phrases for the weary
There’s a spinning,
That’s yet to visit this year,
Makes all the colors I have
somehow beautiful.
Makes them somehow
Fill the page.
Try not to think too hard about it.
Afraid I’ll chase it away with
hard pursuit.
Surely it will come.
Naps help.
Sunshine, too.
And the pink, soft, velvet underlip
Of a dog who nuzzles my cheek to say,
Get off the laptop.
