@Ching13 7 December 2021

Life

Sometimes I see it as a straight line Drawn with a pencil and a ruler Transecting the circle of the world Or as a finger piercing A smoke-ring, casual, inquisitive, But then the sun will come out Or the phone will ring and I will cease to wonder. If it is one thing, a large ball of air and memory, Or many things, a string of small farming towns, a dark road winding through them. Let us say it is a field I have been hoeing every day, Hoeing and singing, Then going to sleep in one of its furrows, Or now that Is is more than half over, A partially open door, rain dripping from the eaves. Like yours, it could be anything, A nest with one egg, a hallway that leads to a thousand rooms. Whatever happens to float into vies When I close my eyes It look out a window For more than a few minutes, So that some day I think It must be everything and nothing at once.