lines crisscross our lives some of them are permanent others fade away
the help that we need might not be available when we do need it
the mythology fades into stories, leaving icons of the passed
we forget the past at our peril, but still worse is to live in it
there’s a muted glow that makes the city distant yet somehow closer
the plastic monkey tail curled for easy hanging screeches in silence
the city quiets and everything slows down as the snow piles up
the farther we are away from the source, the more the shadow is blurred
when content to dream rather than do, we open doors within ourselves
a positive word always travels quietly in ways we don’t know
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