Sometimes the world can reinvent itself
with the placement of a breeze, or a cloud, or a shadow.
Once my world was cloistered behind stalwart boxed walls
The sound of spinning and whirring below me frees
Like the winter season gives way to hopes of spring
And boxes move from being barricades to being stored away
Alight with purpose yet again, my inner shelves cleared
To write and read and travel and be
A spinning world, top-like and blurred
Images that coalesce for the future to see
12:53 am
2 November 2011
