I stand inside this doorway
with patience and my daydream
What thoughts arise between now
and the moment somebody utters when
Look around at all these photographs
none of which I see my reflection in
Seconds pass and in the background
a choir is repeating what John Lennon
said so cogently a long long time ago
And here I stand next to where you might
be standing quiet too asking in one voice
How long (how many lifetimes) until we win
Red-winged black bird sings his warning
country road is ending soon
Ditch daisies squint and clematis whispers
We can’t go with you over there
Airport traffic chorus in the roundabout
Somebody’s humming off key
Discarded at the edge
between tall grasses and concrete
blue sleeping bag curls around absence
Who slept here under the stars last night?
I ask Dandelion who only smiles and waves
Secrets are secrets
Nobody’s coming back this way
All the traffic halts for the walker
I hope I don’t limp or stumble
Impatience rising with mercury on tongues
Wind’s playful on the overpass
Lovers’ lock marks hearts’ forever embrace
I won’t jump
but I imagine what mess a falling
would make
There is the town in the distance
You can smell her everywhere
I pause with the dogs in the alley
to comb my hair
There’s a sign in the Garry Oak on the corner
No heavy big trucks welcome there
I could have left a note
but it’s windy over there near the bay
You’ll be back before the melting
they remind us every day anyway
I listen to Neve and The Deer Children
sing songs in a language I do not understand
Which path did you choose at the crossroad
I wonder over morning coffee
Where is her other hand you’ll probably ask
when you arrive and find my sign
Why are there no footprints
either coming or going
clarity
contemplate your resurrection path
winds are strong today
avert the fragile makers
empty vessels travel weightless
anchors having all rusted away
your hair obscures your view
yet you see what needs be seen
a blurring
a sign
a single thread
soft speaking from the edge of
a craggy cliff
a hem of your old sweatshirt
Bleak was the day
rain clouds beat the sunlight away
Then a beacon out of the grey
subtle Moonbeam calling my name.
Some try
to find
poet phrases
ex-pounding unique
big diction
coloured fiction
flash rhythm
funky creek
while naturals
glide on.
Pencil Notes 