the wire ceiling

i chase the thought bubble
down myriad streets
sunlit noise and slow traffic

what does the reply teach?
i shove the day around
pushing an abstract idea

invisible writer
inhales truth
exhales fiction

i observe his hand-drawn trash cans
draw new door
step through it
paint appealing window

ecstatic writer
drives her own traffic
without a car
caged bird climbs a ladder


by mary ann blinkhorn



if ever

if ever again
i feel the winds
of white sheets flapping
i shall listen to seagulls
or to whomever come nearest
to their callings
i write deeper tonight
right shoulder turned
toward window
truths hovering over stars
long enough to gather them
hold them
lull them to sleep
beneath the sun

by mary ann blinkhorn