Tuesday, May 16, 2017


Each day it's wonder and awe for me,
so much so that I never know where
I'm going and never realize where I
end up. I should found my own church.
There are things that leave me speechless,
always churning around the bend. At any
point: the movie-house lettering, five birds
in the sky, a shadow, the back of that book.
I see ideas in a plate-glass window, and 
the wandering forms of an idle reflection. 
People's bent faces  -  and people's spent 
faces too. Those too old for the young 
and those too young for the old. Those 
coming, or going. The bought, or the
sold. Those coming again.
It's never over under those maple-tree eaves.
Those boughs and those branches are new,
every new leaf and bud I saw -  a perfect
mark to recollect, my wonder, my awe.

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