Waysides

<p><em style=background-color: rgba(255 255 255 1); color: rgba(0 0 0 1)>Waysides</em><span style=background-color: rgba(255 255 255 1); color: rgba(0 0 0 1)> holds the whispers that speak through the cracks opening between minutes. When I take walks to the park and practice listening for still moments a mailbox near the street with no house for its address a cat with electric yellow eyes set inside a dark black shape or an abandoned and decaying porch that may have warmed jars of sun tea might peak through those cracks.  </span><em style=background-color: rgba(255 255 255 1); color: rgba(0 0 0 1)>Waysides</em><span style=background-color: rgba(255 255 255 1); color: rgba(0 0 0 1)> takes note of those fragments pebbles splinters left on the side of a steady flow of time and lays them on the page like pieces of glass that catch the light at odd angles.</span></p><p></p>