The Frame
“The Frame”
I came upon a frame
leaned gently against a low wall—
as if someone once saw something
worth holding there.
The vines wandered through it,
unbothered by the borders.
Moss clung to stone like memory.
The sidewalk kept on,
indifferent.
Strange,
how a simple frame
can change everything.
A patch of the ordinary
becomes sacred
when seen with intention.
We are always framing—
not with wood and nails,
but with attention.
With the tilt of a head,
a softening gaze.
This over that.
Now over later.
Chosen. Named. Known.
And who’s to say
what holds importance?
You.
And me.
And the wonder is:
we all get to decide.
When we share our frames,
we see the ones we missed.
The ones that shift the light,
or open a new door,
or point to the sky
when we were looking down.
So many frames,
so many truths—
and when gathered,
they shimmer,
like facets of the same jewel.
One world,
seen from many sacred angles.