Jim Spaulding-The Form of Sound
Social networking
is firing my synapses
in a funny way
Chasing a feather
she slipped and fell to her death
It is very sad
The snow is melting
Spring singing in my yard
"It's time to plant seeds"
Echoes of ancients
are ringing in Saturn's ear
Neptune's tuning fork
The moon is shining
like a golden Buhdda
hanging in the sky
Standing in the dark
I blindly reach out my hand
hoping you are there
The sun always shines
in my southwestern window
drinking my coffee