Wishing Well

every summer, we gathered copper-lustered hopes
and bit into their fresh minted coatings
tart like lemon fingers at tea time
only to throw them by the handfuls
into the fountain behind the schoolyard

we stood, knee-deep, shivering in
the idle daydreams
of pennies

Paper Labor

On incarnadine sheets
He paints wishes and hopes
Black-faced characters
That curl and lope
Through a vast landscape
That stretches on and on
He fastens a paper steed to ride upon
For horizons of dreams
Horizons of songs
An artisan labors
Faithful and long

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