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