Phases of Poetry - July 2, 2024

mornings I write about the innocence

of the newly born

     the sun on newly sprouted

     leaves of hope

afternoons are for mature topics

midlife forks in the road

     me pondering in the shade of

     wishes that haven’t come true

nights arrive with eyes

between open and closed

     the moon neither fully affectionate

     nor wholly impassive

more like a friendly stranger

you can whisper a secret to

who leans in and nods

between swigs of beer