Only The Goldfish Knows
Dreams evolved from the tusk of night
into the speckled mist of dawn.
Rye-buttered toast and fresh roast are on.
Window filled with silver sparkle.
Birds chirping from boughs of their emerald church.
It's been a good day... so far.
It's been a good day ...so far.
Heartache is briefly sealed in a mason jar.
No vamps sniffing at the nape of the neck.
No auto wrecks, freak accidents, nor death.
The goldfish is well flaked and blows me a kiss.
It's been a good night... so far. No black phone calls.
No specters in the corner of the eye or bathroom mirror.
Only worn eyes that know the spring as well as the fall.
The silver swells, bloody trails and purple troughs.
Age has no dominion over wisdom or discernment.
I'm rapidly approaching my final home.
There's still so much more to do and to learn.
Only the goldfish knows that precious things are never forged from gold.
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