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my mother always said that we see in the world
whatever we want to see
reality is shaped by our perception
but my eyeballs don’t
reach out into the world like
fingers
molding clay into concept
or concept into clay
and if they do
they are more like slippery blind tendrils
soft and webbed and glassy
scooping wet sand into sloppy castles
only to get lapped up by the tide
in cycles
not spiteful or cruel but indifferent
as the moon plays tug-of-war with the earth
in their little game of gravity
in nature there are no wins or losses

Awake glorious mornings
Beware of this opportune
Charming vista to behold
Delight in a vision rich
Event when one clearly 
Flows with surrounding 
Gateways to revel in
Haunting in each sense
Inspiring thoughtful verse
Jubilant in its wide sweep
Kindling love for blissful
Lavish ode on oral  piece
Magical and  so alluring 
Now in urban street zest
Or in country meadows 
Pleasant mood signage 
Queuing for pilgrimage 
Reflect on visual path
Stream of fountain fair

That sports team playing some game on the field?
Doesn’t that go with the territory!

uneven pitch? surely not a level playing field
for struggling side!

maths teacher has strange teaching methods?
There is MATH-OD in their
METHOD in their madness!

the above has gone on
“ADD” AD INFINITUM

Big sales on modern gates?

They are
GOING “GATE”GUNS
GREAT GUNS

this rock might seem like a barrier?
AGATE A-GATE

part of healthy athletes diet?
RUNNER BEANS!

I was born with pockets full of stones,
each one etched with a silence
someone pressed into my palm.

I carried them through doorways,
into sleep,
into conversations where laughter
felt borrowed.

But one night, a sparrow
landed on the railing of my chest.
It bent its head to drink from the hollow
I thought was empty
and found water still.

Since then, I have stitched feathers
to my grief,
turned laments into lullabies,
let the dawn arrive like an unwritten letter
and answered it with breath.