It's Still Life

For days when reality misplaces itself and the crows are only too happy to explain why.

We’ve Misplaced Friday Again

Then let’s be thieves
of child-logic today.
Let’s pocket the gravel sparkles,
argue with clouds
until they huff into rabbits.

Let’s declare our shadows
very good listeners
(even when they yawn).
Let’s whisper the wildest poems —
and kneel in the grass to hear them.

Let’s float through the hours
like a balloon:
half-mischief,
half-miracle.

And if anyone asks,
Why are you smiling at thin air?

Tell them the crows
are gossiping again.
Tell them you’re fluent.