Here, a room
a floor bed near a window
On, a radio
a cacophony of voices down low
A glass of red
A notebook and pen
A resting nest
An introspection
A pack of we’ll see
A lamp to illumine
A night vision
A solo tour
A hovering
A view of two tall winter trees
A crosshatch sky
An obscured moon
On the wall, a clock
An hour and minute
An absence and presence
A ritual
A candle flame
A flickering reflection
A faraway
A song sung
The CBC
Nine oh three
Nine oh three
Nine oh three
Telephone
Out there in the woods
I see it through raindrops suspended
Armchair empty, waiting
Between wet fallen maple leaves
And sunlight
There beneath a canopy of cedar limb lace
I hear it ringing not without urgency
I pause and then I sprint
Who’s calling from where
And for whom
But I am slow motion
My breath a heavy sound
The ringer out of patience
You can tell
looking through the hole of life
You can predict
what may happen
You can change
but only for good reason
You can slip
so easily these days
You can cry
though no one may hear you
You can wish
though no one may care
You can change
but your steps leave footprints
You can slip
so easily these days
Pencil Notes 