Wind Chimes; Dream On by Michael Lee Johnson

Wind Chimes

The wind chimes,

silver-tongued

on the balcony today,

different sounds—

cool, metallic laughter—

in all different directions.

My thoughts chase

after them.

Dream On

Wrinkles etch stories on skin,

tears carve rivers through time.

Both are loyal cartographers of the heart,

mapping jubilation and lancination alike,

to the drumbeat of passing days.

Focus on the years.

Here, children burst like crocuses in Illinois soil.

Old folks fade like dusk devoured by the horizon.

Brief footprints on soft earth.

Resurrection, the sun rising anew,

rebirth in every dew-kissed morning.

It is a dream that stitches beginnings,

and endings into a single sky.