*
if I could just still myself
as birds do when they fly
.
gliding afterward to see
for once what life is about
.
.
*
if I could just still myself
as birds do when they fly
.
gliding afterward to see
for once what life is about
.
.
*
before is the bird’s
song and the occasional
car passing by
then the refrigerator
freezing while shaking
the hot water boiler
or an airplane
far away the mailman
comes dropping
volumes of papers
we need to lift glance
at a minute then dispose
that’s how days roll
away how solitude
serves me well
.
.
.
.
.