I keep thinking I’ll reach this spacious place.
Simple, like pancakes.
Butter drips through blue-berry stacks that
kill the drowsy plains of afternoon with dreams that shatter sheep, baa – baa – baa-ing over faltering fences.
I keep thinking it will get easy -er.
Seek and ye shall find they say.
Knock and the door shall be open.
Nothing clears into a blur of grace
like blueberry pancakes
whoring their way to something else.
We are all afraid of each other.
Maybe we should be.
Oh my! So so well said. Just the right amount of pancakes too!
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