Frames of View*
Frowns bend down
closed corner minds.
Fingers point the way,
through the dark,
into parking lots of dust.
Must whispers crown
upside down handshakes?
Is it warm on the other side
of frost tinged windows?
Smudges crust the view.
The sun is just behind a cloud.
It is a point fixed just above my head,
without shadow.
Like faith, it radiates,
steadfast,
a love of all things possible.
* all rights held by author M.G. McNew
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