Pieces

I see myself in cracked paint, slipping off the sides of Victorian buildings, revealing layers of time.

The tired petals of poppies and peonies bow to me
Technicolor fallen queens

I live with the solitary crow high in the branches
Feathers sleek
Black silk shrouded in mystery.

Sun erupting through clouds like an eye on fire
Watching me

I float with impressionist clouds
painted lightly
soft blue, scalloped cotton tips

Reverse sunsets
Melted ice cream
The cool taste of iced coffee on my lips

I walk within the smiles of rowdy neighborhood boys on bikes
Stick swords
Warrior calls bellowing

I rest in my son’s eyes,
full of wonder
Brushed by long thick lashes,
the space where the light bends through bamboo blinds

I touch the door, old and worn,
tattered screen
Slamming shut at the corner store.
The sound of
high heels clicking on the sidewalk below.

Damp grass, bare feet
I hear the crickets talk to me

Open
Closed
The electric hum from neon signs
From street lights

All senses come alive
An orchestra of chaos
Fragments of observations
Mirrored mosaic pieces of me

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