A Light Breeze
The wind blows platitudes through
my hair, a few come to rest
on the soft flesh of my scalp.
Slowly, so slowly,
like an ant hill, they permeate
my skull and carve soft
caverns in my brain.
On days where I have nothing to say,
all the love on my tongue has dried up,
I'll go fishing in their reflective pools.
The fish are smart though,
wary as an unfamiliar roundabout,
and I sit, invisible string making
ripples on the still, pink water.
Eventually,
the line is pulled taut as an occupied
swingset- good things come to those
who wait.
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