Thoughts spill onto the fibers of my page
-droplets of silver blue sink in and leave a stain.
It’s why I fall asleep with pen still in
Trying to capture a moment
that pools to the bottom
like cracks in sheer ice that melt into the
pale yellow rain I hear outside.
Drops pour down gutter bound,
furiously pinging, shoveling through
transforming letters into a
construct of words.
Stains become oceans
and sentences flow
moments remembered become fluid
Connected and liquid,
like the river and the sea.