The outside is 
a frosted donut 
in a tray
of silent white 
like some baker
with a shaky
hand scattered icing 
all over everything 
soon though the 
sun will come 
like hungry hands 
and not even 
footprints will remain 

Love is
no fairytale 
it’s a 
war zone 
with bullets 
flying overhead 
and just 
us two 
hunkered down 
together there
and waiting 
watching and 
wondering when 
and if
and the 
million other 
nots and 
we decide 
that it’s 
just us 
who will
be the 
others yes

Pots and pans 
cups and saucers
hand me downs 
and long forgottens 
make their way
back to being 
new when in
the eager hands
of those without 
be it heirlooms 
or even tools
the old things 
tend to bring 
the treasured glory 

Gratitude is 
my attitude 
thanks I
do bank
and blessings 
are my 
window dressings 
these things 
abundantly ring
and remind 
me to 
be mindful 

Having broken free
from the continent 
some time ago 
I had drifted 
until at last
upon some reef
unforeseen I stopped 
and there I
became an island 
an observer of 
oceans and those 
who sailed upon 
alone not lonely 
for I whole 
took when left
what I needed 
and found what 
I’d always wanted 
my little place 
in the sea