7749. NOT A MOMENT

NOT A MOMENT

Here where the gargoyles burst their

britches, the rain pours out in buckets.

We become united kingdoms of our own

utensils  -  some shred of a shredded wheat

over  -  as they posit  -  our own Niagara Falls.

Wherever is the haunting mystery of that, I wonder.

-

Then again, thirty years later, I sit alone to watch a

midnight moon remove itself from sight. Some stand

awestruck by eclipses, when things disappear. I get

star-struck by appearances, and the visons of all that I see.

-

Whatever is the haunting mystery of that, I wonder.