Nothing to Write Home About

I have nothing to write,
not here, not now
as something slips my mind,
trading souvenirs of time
for fruitful things forgotten.

Graduating Textures

You were a child once
playing with your hands
in the classroom,
tormenting teachers
who thought you should
be focused
on more serious subjects.

You were a teenager not long ago
seeking some wild place
and identity to call your own
while you bent words and rules
and turned your sail
toward bursting colors
of curious exploration.

Now a young man
with graduating textures,
you work your vision
of art and life
through the craft that calls
beyond this dazzling threshold
to the self you will become.