• Vol. 07
  • Chapter 04
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Mirror shards,
Reflections in the street
Of who we are,
The language of a thousand feet,
Or just one step,
Typed in ribbons of ink
On the cobblestones, their own scrolls,
Mosaics of paint on roads,
One portrait,
A song of many voices
Made one.
Every puddle
Has some trace of the sky,
The ocean caught in a drop of water,
Brief paintings that make life immortal,
Souls waiting in limbo,
For the crosswalk to their destination,
Or by the curb for a bus,
Some way
To move forward,
Reaching closer
For a blinking star in the horizon,
Not so unattainable
When you have a dream
Illuminating all you see,
Held in your hands
Like a fistful of clay



To be shaped
By hope and destiny,
Stories written as you wait,
And then
The sign blinks,
The bus arrives,
Thought evaporates momentarily,
As you focus on your routine,
But still,
A moment of beauty,
Like a single glistening tear,
Glittering in the sidewalk puddle.
No art can ever be washed out by rain;
The imprint, the impact