Pages can wait

Words from the sediments reappear.

They change shapes and colours, only to vanish.

The pet Fox lurks around.

It plays with the emptiness of the old diary.

The peddler of dreams knocks.

To leave something seemingly heavy at my doorstep.

I step away from the empty pages.

The sack on my shoulder is a big, light cloud.

It bursts open with a feather touch.

I flip around to gather the lost thoughts, all at a time.

The Fox grins and jumps into the bushes.

It knows, the pages can wait.