Half a life ago, I found poetry 
everywhere.
Now, I struggle and strain to find it
anywhere.

Putting words in poetry sized shapes
doesn’t always make them poems.

The routines of life
have put my soul to sleep.
There are no children in my everyday life
to remind me of the wonder
that is life.
The teenagers I teach
possibly more jaded than I.

On my walk back from my mailbox this evening,
the clouds hung low enough I thought I 
could reach up and run my fingers through them.

So many hues of pink streaked across the sky–
rose, blush, coral, rose, and peach.

The frighteningly-sized bug
hovering at the flowers
on my neighbor’s balcony
turned out to be 
a flitting hummingbird instead.