Evening of a writer 10/15/10

The clock was perfect.
Each hand rotated
in response to the other
--a random way
to track the day.
A simple metronome,
then the chorus,
trumpets roaring
…could almost see the shape of this exact time
this exact evening
how it fit into the all
yet rose above it.
Then the mundane
--a routine to tend to, a hand to lend you,
a vibrant face the color of marble
pressed against
cosmic space;
outlines in the sand
washed away
appearing again…
a holy mystery
written with a comic’s wit,
Arms on hips right hand holding chin,
...could be a reconfirguration,
An open face gazing up into the rain unflinching...

Comments

Stephen B. said…
keep doing whatchu do! maaad love!!

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