in a reflection . the story is distorted . but is still believed
we are never there . for someone else’s story . at the beginning
there is a story . in ordinary moments . just stop and listen
things we leave behind . without an explanation . tell their own story
there are simple clues . we all can see that anchor . our reality
in a found item . oddly placed, there are stories . i will never know
i don’t know the names . but i might know the stories . they each left behind
to build a story we will place antique items where they don’t belong
sometimes a story has an obvious ending that’s still a surprise
on the boulevard there’s a concrete gardener with untold stories
uptown jack 