Bottle Seller

Deep in the woods

between two mossy mounds

there’s a bottle seller.

He sits behind his stand,

sheltered beneath

bending branches

that seem to wave

"come in".

His shelves hold

dangling glass treasures —

bottles filled with storm clouds

ready to burst,

some with sunshine

refracting crystal patterns

on the carpeted floor.

Others are heavy with regret,

or sealed with worry,

or echo with wishes

that never came true.

If you find him,

you can trade yours in.

Whatever you carry —

grief, shame, joy, love —

he takes it all,

no questions asked.

And I,

I would give him

my happiest memories —

and in return

I ask for the sorrows

of the children in this world.

I think he would look at me

somewhat funnily if I am able to find where his shop might be.