the
morning
sun shaft
finds a single
green glass float,
the slippery orb that
once bobbed our globe
adrift together all netted
woven, tied, roped in with
other bubbles, hand blown
strung with long and drifting
headlines, longlines, trolling
droplines, footropes, drifters
gillnets floating, on the salty
sea surface slickly seeking
schools of fish, is suddenly
released, cast out ashore
abandoned like flotsam,
jetsam, later cherished
landlocked, beached
by garden granite
catching just a
glimpse of
spring
I retired from public school teaching after happily spending twenty eight years playing in Kindergarten. Now I fill my days watching cat antics, taking endless...
