there are times when just
looking outside my window
is odd and surreal

even the morning
glory glows from the inside
star-petals burst forth

oftentimes the prize
is worth every bit of the
exhorbitant price

every single scrap
of me makes up the whole but
they're still scraps, aren't they?

in a blink, summer
is just a blur, as seen through
the sideview mirror

as artists, we try
pathetically to capture
God's gifts: His bounty

Birds of a feather may flock together but two in a cage are all the rage