In Thought

In Thought

poem, poetic, writer

I wonder.

What does life look like from the plane I saw skimming the clouds?

I wonder.

Do old shoes find their way home?

I imagine a white-haired cobbler,
his bench slick with age, lovingly,
ever so carefully, herding the leather uppers
onto a new soul. Matchmaker.

I wonder.

Does a baby dream of green fields
and red poppies before ever seeing them?
Do memories – tribal, really – seep into the
brain, ensuring a long line
of unbrokenmemory?

I wonder.

Do we fight sleep because we are
haunted by the long sleep we know
is ahead?

I wonder.

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