dreams start
in the dark
reaches of the mind
corners
of the heart
where fingertips trace
outlines of shapes
formations felt
not yet seen
do you remember?
peer back
at the past
with the light
of the present
when you were a blind potter
kneading some dream
in the dark
only sensing
a time
when light
might
illumine
hoping miracles may happen
you were blind
but then…
see
your creation
the one
you
now
hold in your hand
I could report all of the daily details. The events (big and small) that have been unfolding in the past 48 hours. That’s apparently what I do here in the Archives.
But the truth is, right now, the details tire me.
I’m craving a blank slate. An empty page. Some time with Zelva the turtle, watching her move three feet in twenty minutes. You know, a slow and steady stream of nothingness.
However, today’s schedule appears to be more hare-like. Hence, my body carves out stillness by protesting an early morning wake-up. My mind seeks solace in sleep. So instead of pre-dawn writing, I wake with the day. Rise with a burst of sun.
you don’t want to know
the contents
of my head
so full of lists
incessant
and
acrobatic
but I’m not the only one
this morning
the air is filled
with traffic
buzzing swiftly
worker bees
beginning
the day
fueled by fossils
sourced
earth-deep
from a time
when the pace
was slower
maybe back then
I would still be running
hoping not to be eaten
by a tyrannosaurus rex
at least the rush
would be real
life and death
not tech support for a cell phone
or adding items
to a virtual shopping cart
on amazon.com
all the things we need
keeping us
moving
in the morning
the hills
are quiet
shrouded
by a cape of clouds
birds sing
and wrestle with the insects
we power on
velocity
running
on ancient bones
For the Archives 