I have been told I am like a bird, collecting stones and shiny objects for those I love.
I wonder… is there someone, or something, with a penchant to do the same with lives?
no resentment towards the sun
for the shadows cast
rather
gratitude expressed for
warmth and
quiet, calm illumination
a glimmer, eyes to
feet
hands
with a fluid motion
capturing between
thumb and index
a hazy stone
quartz perhaps
cracks filled with
dirt and grains of sand
the trees are moving
with the summer breeze
somewhere
something is dying
alone and without knowing
why
Objects, and the Distance Between Them 