I have nothing to wear,
said the soul, rummaging
through drawers full of socks—
I would like to have
a word with the night,
said the eye’s dark iris—
I have pockets full of seeds,
said the bitter melon that I sliced
into half-circles on the chopping board—
And I repeat everything you say,
said the northern mockingbird to the row
of machines churning in the laundromat—
[LAG-signature date=”10 12 2014″ url=”http://morningporch.com/2014/10/159124120/”]