Poetry — I won’t be saved by thunder
or the prickly thorns of jagged stems, I won’t be moved by words
that drip from the bottom of your hem, I won’t be deluded by love
or understand why the pen runs dry, I won’t be rescued by the kiss
of a croaking frog
who slips on the cusp
of Wednesday eve,
dreaming of fairy tales
and rhinestone stars. Thank you to Zay Pareltheon, Viraji Ogodapola, Marilyn J Wolf, the editors of The Howling Owl publication on Medium writing for allowing me to take a deep breath and dare to dream. And for such a remarkable community of writers, creators and readers.