The gravity of little minds,
All worlds unto themselves,
Do multiply their questions to
The voids beyond them delve,
Catch orbits of the little things,
To make them their own realm,
What joy to be a part of this,
Unending beginning.

Cracking mazes open at the seams,
Turning hammers spanners rachets mean,
A multitool come power and it slips between,
The maze's cracks to find a path from where it's been.

The storm outside is wide and vast astride
My house, but kept behind closed doors for now,
Its peaking through in chasing cold: a peal
Of laughter striking from the clouds above,
A yellow glow that lamps the walls and lines
My face and warms it in the chasing cold,
All's grey, but these are painted bright inside,
All's grey, but these are painted bright inside.