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message from yesterday, 

printed on the soles 

of my feet,

burned into my mind.

	the spot of color

	the sun created.



tripping over legs,

tripping over legs, 

feet attached to 

the floor. 

wild 

eyes 

blinked too fast.



i never saw it happen.

Stephanie Brown 's Questions:

1. Does the last line fit?

2. I like to leave a large amount of creative control to my readers, in other words I'd like to think that everyone interprets my poetry(and most poetry) in their own fashion. But is this intention lost when the poem doesn't make complete sense right away?

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