Keyhole

A pen felt cumbersome in my hand,
just after the sales job
So I quit writing.

Now, winter, of all things
Is tapping my veins
And I'm bleeding ink again

These things, like answers to my own questions,
Ring with what I'm seeing.
I'm learning to embrace a fresh start.

For the first time in a long time,
It's easy to brush an arm and fall in love

I want to get an old lock for my door
With a heavy brass key that's I'd wear around my neck.

I wonder where ducks go in the winter
They were still here the day before first snowfall