Joyous little things 
such are words 
pickles of thought 
marinating in juices
of what might
and what can 
prone to crunch
hard to spear
easy to swallow
when presented right 
whether in dish
or even jar
pickles are by
their nature words

There is very 
little fanfare and 
never a parade
whenever we finally 
achieve a goal 
no party and 
no applause all
there usually is 
is a sigh
and one single 
moment of pause 
but if one 
listens very carefully 
you can hear 
the wings of 
angels in Heaven 
whooping and dancing 
for they are
humanity’s only cheerleaders 
and personal champions 

People are
like shoes
styles and
colors change 
but fit
never does
at first 
very hopeful 
and then 
once the 
pain begins 
back to 
the closet
they go 
remembering why
they were 
right and 
then left
later on 

I see words
not as they
are but as
they can be 
like little stones 
found and upon
study understand their 
smoothness and desire 
to fly or
maybe even skim
skate and sink

It’s this one 
not the last 
one or the 
one before or
even the first 
it’s always been 
about this one 
be it breath
or glance or 
glass or glare
it’s this one 
and now that
this one has 
rather than will
maybe or might 
a sigh I’d
say is due