Naomi Folb

It never seemed as obvious
how the minutiae of being
came to be a warm hand,

a drop of rain
wrinkling the skin
of a dark park puddle,
reflecting a dream
that repeats itself
in uneven flashes
refusing an order
that forms a story
you can tell,

or maybe
it was…

--

--

Journey

When all these streets are crossed

And the skies peel these heavy clouds from its chest,

We will all be lighter.

Freer to roam into the melting alleyways

Where the tramps will shrug off their dirty bags and, the cardboard matrices (sic) can air.

The people will unbandage themselves…

--

--

Sep 8, 2021

We could have fires
in your garden
every summer night,

sit in circles
to let the stories
wash our eyes
with their convictions.

Pick apart what we know
to give us our belonging
as necklaces of intimacy
adorn us in half darkness.

Watch the sparks of flames
dance free as fairies,
for…

--

--

Naomi Folb

Naomi Folb

writer, poet, educator, over-active thinker, in search of anything orange.