another poem

this street.

words, there are words.
this street is covered in words,
paved with them,
if I could only see. peel back
wet paper to find what is written

or thoughts, swirling unforgettable
too often lost and broken.
gather them to me
like reams of cotton
bringing soft billowing
bringing true sorrow.

and the many people,
so frail, wandering down this
fickle street.
walking step by step together.
red lipstick, small laughing
mouths, large hats.
thin legs encased in baggy pants.
frailty. people so easily broken.
like small branches, really, looking
and laughing, eyes and hair
tossed like scattered leaves.

gather them to me like flowers
catch the elusive pieces
to pin them back together
wishing that they would be whole.