Is the end a beginning

since nothing ever stops?

 

After all, rocks are beehives,

molecules that whirl and buzz.

 

***

 

Sometimes I feel like

a hamster on a wheel.

 

What I seek crumbles,

rock to sand

beside the sea.

 

Yet treasure chests bulging

with red rubies, golden

doubloons on top,

are a gift to me while I'm

too distracted to see.

 

Perhaps my sputtering jalopy

heading toward a cliff

will shape shift to a Maserati

with wings and I will fly

into the sky of my night

 

and understand that

the pieces of my

puzzle fit perfectly.

 

Could that new

set of wheels

wake me up

just in time

to go to sleep?