Why spend this late hour worrying?
The sink drains and you are among the ancients . . .
You are the ancients
headed for the disaster of the unknown . . .
On the road, hands cupped
you find a box filled with moments
of astonishing pleasure . . .
You crack open a can of words . . .
It's not too late
despite the chagrin
on the faces of your stubbed hammertoes . . .
Forget them . . .
The sink finally drains and you breathe in deeply . . .
This day of blueberry jam
of busy bird feeders
sharpened pencils
stoked fire
rescue cats curled in sleep
is here . . . is now
the Jeep warming despite the cold
the trip down the mountain
for ingredients to make grandmother's goulash . . .
It will be OK . . .
There's nothing but a memory
to lay down a dry fly
onto the roiling surface
for a maybe . . .
a moment of astonishing pleasure maybe . . .
catch and release . . . catch and release . . .
No comments:
Post a Comment