I have no Drafts awaiting revision
so I must think anew, fresh
out of the grey box
The space behind my eyes
settles into the space
before my eyes, contentedly
I hear a bird, perhaps one-hundred yards away,
that sounds like a French police horn,
all treble, no punch like the real thing
Sitting forward in my chair at the edge, I pop the back
of the seat cushion into the air, but it settles down
when I plant my feet squarely
The tiniest of gnats, perhaps birthed
of the late-season green tomatoes,
navigates the menu bar of my blog
Good name for a band -
Ladies and gentlemen, The Late Green Tomatoes!
Fucking gnat wants to enter one of the orifices on my face
Returning to center, to a silent calm that hadn't been there
...witness this moment's slip to the next,
I glance back then ahead - look both ways before
not crossing at the green, not in-between
the time that falls like rain
My father once told me he could weave through raindrops
and not get touched - stay dry even in a downpour
They say that there are laws of conservation
at work in the universe. Where do the good
energies go when they die?
Chagall 2020
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