Spying on the neighbors.
. . . layers of soft and color.
. . . layered strands of evening.
I look through my own grid, and I’m not sure how to see differently.
I know just how you feel–
well, not really. I can imagine walking in your shoes,
but truth is I don’t. I can imagine feeling what you feel,
but truth is I can’t. Small wonder we feel the separation and division strongly,
but so often
And that warm, fuzzy unity is an out-there goal, a hope,
until I am you, I walk as if in a dream.
. . . waiting for freedom!
. . . waiting for treats!