This is the beginning, I know.
Of a long lost and unmarked road
My laces are new and tight.
Fresh sneakers, shiny, white.
And that unconscious bite on your lip
once you’ve heard that gun pop go.

And it’s like all new things
the morning light that filter between the shades
first whispers and soft cadences
of new songs with purple rhythms
plump and full like concord grapes
that surprise you with a soft pop
as you lick them down your throat.

I love how fresh starts are always so pregnant with possibilities.