A First Dance

Atmosphere is an old moon
A nudge.  Chaos.
Brilliant, circled ideas
Watching a loved one skip down yellow brick road carrying leftovers
Almost midnight
I gnaw on words
Converse with ghosts past and present
Though really just myself
The actor shines
The sun brightens
A near-jaded entrance
Clothed in life
Writing with overjoyed, hurried, Sharpie
Light, gratitude and attitude
A first dance.

 

By Mary Ann Blinkhorn

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