Life is like unfinished project,
sometimes in front of the parting of the ways.
Ends this is our common outing.
Waiting for me yet tomorrow,
create your own paths below steps.
At this point, the deck of the hammer The kit,
casually on the wall in the cold.
I may yet fall into the gutter,
paint brushes I hit him in the sand,
and the dream of looking skyline.
Perhaps the still life can carry?