My breath fogs the window,
some promise out of science
has arrived,
of this I’ve been content
for hours. I’ve considered flowers
the production of time
and a product of retiring stars
written in the remaining odds
and a yellowish pad.
© J.P.V.
Musing & Rhymes of a Man Reaching For Meaning
My breath fogs the window,
some promise out of science
has arrived,
of this I’ve been content
for hours. I’ve considered flowers
the production of time
and a product of retiring stars
written in the remaining odds
and a yellowish pad.
© J.P.V.