Grateful

 

The musty smell of old books
Thinned sepia pages fragile between my fingers
Dust particles and life dance in the sun’s rays
And the clicking of my fingers on the keys of my board
is music
And the words
The words
The words
Flowing onto the white page
And time
To watch it all
Swirl around me

Isn’t it funny
how right before a cry
tears sting a little
at least they sting my eyes
before they cleanse
right before my cry
like some of the lyrics an old friend sang
right before I was caught
by ambush
my tears taste like salt
sometimes I let them run down my cheek
and I catch them in the corner of my mouth
or stick my tongue to one side and taste my brine
and I’ll pick up my journal
and write all about it
each and every surge

and how a sneeze tickles
before it brings so much relief
a big sigh
that says that felt good

dark chocolate moments, maybe a 72%
linger
sometimes                                                  
I’ll even go for the milk or
God forbid the white
even though once the full woman at the counter
of Sees Candies scolded, “That’s not even real chocolate”
It’s still sweet and creamy

and the sun warm on my skin
and the smell of a used bookstore

and growing up
the leaves
piles and piles and piles of
raked leaves
and the damp smell of a real autumn
and the crisp burning logs in the air
and the tingling of my dry skin
tight cracked smiling lips
after being out playing for hours
and tomato soup with a grilled cheese sandwich
for lunch

and the waves                                          
and the sand
and the dolphins
always the dolphins
don’t they just
the dolphins
in the calm oceans, rough oceans, surfing the waves,
blue ocean
grey ocean
green ocean
dolphins’ ocean

and the sky is my canvas
to paint my colors and mood and images
and through it all
what amazes me so
is that there is always something
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