I sit in broken houses
Full of half realized dreams
Bookshelves without shelves
Garages still to clean.
Dishes in the sinks.
Moth eaten wedding dresses
Flies through broken screens
No tools to mend fences
Where is the potter’s wheel?
Where is the kiln for clay?
Where is the pool of water?
Where are the children at play?
Gone down yesterday’s promises
Gone into the wishing well.
Gone down wrote of numbers
Gone to time with nothing to sell.
I gaze out a foggy window
The world of mist and grey
But all my mirrors are broken
Like puddles in the rain.
Drifting toward Gray Havens
I pull aside the veil of rain
The healing of fresh mornings
The start of the new day
Catherine Kay
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