Late beginning

I am rushed and booed through the day
But not this morning.
Alone on the bed
I regret myself and my time,
My inner pace awakens
And I write, I read, I think
With joy and deep breaths.
The day will start later today.

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Woolly words

You speak soft words

In a language dear to me.

The memories fly in and life makes sense again.

A friend is more than a ear or a shoulder,

It is our hand and eyes,

A family of sounds,

A nest of stranger’s feathers,

a piece of the stubborn beating leathery heart.