pushpins I walked on jagged lines
upon the fallen pine,
the etch-a-sketch scenery
was scratchy and black
against the smooth night sky,
interrupted by rhinestone stars.
They twinkled
like windchimes sing.
I stood on a rickety dock
that wobbled like
an old man who lost his cane.
Water moved silently
gliding below its own surface
keeping its secret depths
shifting endlessly.
I saw a shooting star
tumble down the blue wallpaper
searching for a place to die out,
and I wished for you
that you could keep this beauty
in an etch-a-sketch
in your pocket
to share with others
to share the wonders.

thanks to farmfish for slipping me the idea of beauty in ones pocket.
phil today 020729
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