Several weeks ago, I wrote a list of fragments and observations that went on to become an interesting poem. Let me try this again:
--This is a love letter to the two parrots in a palm tree that screech at each other.
--This is also a love letter to a pair of abandoned shoes at the beach, tan suede, clean, barely used, made for a man's foot.
--The sun rises, as it always does. The clouds are the middle managers. They know that their job is to make the boss look good.
--This morning, the clouds have settled on apocalypse as a theme, in contrast to the man sitting on the steps, playing his harmonica.
--Does the sun see the people running to the sand to catch the sunrise? Is it aware of how many people ignore the sunrise for whatever magic their phones offer?
--Before the sun came up, I spent the morning looking at graduation pictures of people I remember as little children at church.
--This is a loved letter to all of us on this planet which can seem so doomed. But the sun comes up each morning, and there is coffee enough to fill all of our mugs, and the hands of the master potter can still make sense of it all.
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