The color blue, in the shape of a spiral. A crashing
wave against a bright summer sky.
The number eight, artistic yet stable. I won’t
tip no matter what side you stand me on.
A cat, I curl up beside you and purr,
back arches with your hand's stroke.
A maple, I provide inconspicuous shade, but
occasionally show bright red plumage.
The moon overhead when you sleep outside
and the dew on your face when you wake.
Afraid of nothing and everything, exploring
unknown things and not reaching.
A collector of images and words. I keep them
in a treasure box behind my eyes, a pen my only key.
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