Real To Me

April rain falls on January’s child, blotting a copybook with ink from another time and place. Looking past the landscape I see a couple in absolute love, holding each other as though their days were numbered like a discarded lottery ticket. My focus changes to a bird soaring in the sky, blazing through a backdrop of red and yellow sun kissed netting, another destination somewhere between reality and the dream I had last night. This is what is real to me. These are the images I carry from the past, fused beyond reconciliation with a future I have not yet lived.

(June 2004)