Is there a poem in your heart? There’s always one in mine, but I never quite know how to get it out. Sometimes you’ll find me, standing on the street, staring out into the distance, trying to put some amalgamation of light and sound and air I’m feeling into words, but, alas. Someone always comes along and interrupts my reverie with a ridiculous question that they’re convinced passes for conversation.
“Hey, you look like you’re in a daze,” they’ll say, adding: “What are you thinking about right now?”
