tortured sky
collapses
moments frozen
in prose
a fisherman
in the rain
head bowed
the flowing water
a wisp of smoke rises
pipe in hand
gulls swoop and caw
littered docks
the lighthouse
dreamt as
a tower
now
intervenes
casting light
shadows dance
across your gentle face
tender thoughts
the dried corsage
held deep
in the fisherman’s pocket
remembers you.
maysa-maria peterson
“If you can see your path laid out in front of you step by step, you know it’s not your path. Your own path you make with every step you take. That’s why it’s your path.” ― Joseph Campbell
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"The time has come," the Walrus said, "to talk of many things." Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking Glass
