We’re coming on.
Just about to hit the spot.
Ask, and you shall be questioned.
Carry on, pass this way, no that way.
Look harder into….Those eyes just say it.
All out and about the robin did run.
Touchy, feely, please heel when I call.
Alabaster, mother of plaster, holder of lost
Prayers and causes raise your hands.
Clap, clap your silence over my ears.
Pass the suddenness.
Leaven out what holds.
Gather, parse out what fills.
Park on the escarpment, catch incoming.
The horizon then includes all views.
There is ever draining.
Your part is not always apparent.
Out walking in the frantic, stolid world of work
You face all those caught in their niche:
The cell phone talkers, the transient music lovers lost
In their reverie. And, those talking to themselves,
No audience or response needed.
The lines are long, hard to recall.
The tape hums, waits for instructions.
Across the lawn shadows advance
To the porch, the doorstep, enclosing
Finally the front room windows.
Barges gulp the breeze in the thick water.
The tide roils in and out flexing
Its inner ticking, tacking.
Out in the distance
Birds call to each other,
Challenge the vast sky with their songs.
Let this be centered near the closing,
Insistent, rambling, never satisfied heart.