Becoming a zealot,
I cringe.
Instances like pebbles through a thousand mattresses
make crooked my face.
Fueled by lead laced water,
God talk, and a staunch belief in climate science
I build holier than thou
nests of words and images
to counter yours.
I am sorry.
Light your fire,
make me see it’s better to be subtle
like a brook
babbling those pebbles smooth
until names become traces
phantoms of ideas
smoke rings.
*
Len & I walk the dogs.
Breathing in we step,
one . . . two . . . three.
Breathing out we step,
one . . . two . . . three.
Three is a magic number,
and tonight the moon is full.
Brenda Warren 2016