Poems have been sprinkled
everywhere.

Some catch the sun
in drops of rain,
or bits of glass
or tin.

Some on the ground make
shapes
or tracks;
I bend my head
to read the tale they tell.

Others, hues and shades
that fill my eyes.

Often they move,
and I must dance
with them.

Grand verses compass
sky and earth
with flawless harmony.

Sometimes
when I walk outside
I’m tripped up by poems
and forget where I’m going.

Published May 2023