I cannot explain
the patchwork
of my life...
for it's mismatched
with strands-
A filigree of twists
golden hues
darkest doubts.

Daily I feed
upon a unique brunch
of dreams.
The tablecloth
is life-
holding a platter
etched with memories
and I am filled.

Though my finis
may be without honor,
it shall be no less remembered
by those I've touched...my mantra
of magic holds no hatred
on a staccato of taps...taps...
Tatoo of a passing..to
the next level..

(c) Jane Waggoner