What’s a little puddle here and there?
A whittled water-window on the air.
It shall not make me cease to do or dare.
It won’t make me descend, but mount the stair
despite whatever bald spot haunts my hair.
It shall take me, led by two eyes, to where
the secret worlds above are all my care
and shouts of seraph wars all I beware.
It lenses God’s dusk brushstrokes gold, rose, fair.
It is a pool of heaven everywhere.
A puddle walk right after getting dumped
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Ian Heisler
Ian Heisler 