Cocoa

Lights in all the corners,
illuminating the box's
geometry instead of space.

Mirrors unframed,
hung, leaning, reflecting
the center like cocoa,

dim, maybe dark,
safe, sweet, and warm.

Here

I haven't lost myself,
though I've wandered
much beyond intent.

I wandered from familiar lights,
enamored by the stars
over sea and moon reflection,
with the words that made the craters.

I thought I'd left myself
far behind
with the familiar forty watts
and florescents, but I've just realized

I'm here, nestled among the craters,
too tiny to be in the reflection,
but here, nonetheless, with the stars.

Write

She said twirl
loops and spirals
ink to paper
don't stop
take off
across the page
like a shooting star--
end in a saturated point.

Then craft:
dip into the line
pull strokes
into words
into thoughts
into saturated
points.