Poems

Poems

Poems

hide

under your bed,

in the shadows of the open

closet.

They hide in the

nooks

and

crannies

of the

rock wall that

separates

the world

from

imagination.

Poems hide in birthday parties.

They hide in the morning of

death

and the suspension

of waiting for

things to come.

They hide in the eyes of

strangers

who you have yet to

meet.

They hide in the

most

unbelievable

moments

or even the most

unnecessary.

Poems hide in the blank pages of the open

book lying on the table,

they hide in life itself.

Poems hide in everything.

- Maya