broken glass.

“Don’t tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass.”  – Anton Chekov 




In the midst 

of my meadow

grow dandelions and wild grass

where control once reigned

I sit. 

Weathered. So weathered.

Still sturdy. 

Yet tired. So tired.

Hoping someone 

will want to take care of me

as I age and

my skin does crack.

         — edwinleroy


window to the soul.

Within a narrow
gravelly alley found,
hugged snuggly
among stacks of stone,
rests a silent soulful window
for peering deeply in,
or staring vaguely out.
crumbling cloaks of paints past
cling desperately,
protecting glances, chances,
as mirrored panes prevent
glimpses of the mystery behind.