By  Don Kingfisher Campbell


The plants think

we spend so much

time moving around.

The walls know

too many secrets

to speak, only crack.

The blankets revel

in their memories,

stories told in threads.

The sky sings out

a constant revelation,

if we simply listen.

We are their favorites.

They enjoy our drama,

turning to our eyes,

Which tell the whole

truth inside dreams,

poetry through the hours.

There is no more to say,

just that clouds are related

to the electricity of looks.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s