Someone, Please, Make it About Something

Photo Credit: MastaBaba Flickr via Compfight cc-by-nc.

Before words blacken page,
this could be about a wish:
Grant us the calm of the curled dog,
for forgiveness:
Folks fret too much,

Or a hopscotch game:
Chalked on cracked Harlem sidewalk
that is really metaphor
for aspects, random
and planned, of a hard life—
Hop, twist, land, count, lose
but call it win,

Or sound:
An ax on oak,
a bleating sheep drifting
to a long-ago castle keep window
No more than slotted gap
in sturdy stone wall.

Here on blackened page
words may swerve
down to water’s salty edge:
into fields of yellow flowers:
the mind’s eye,
in front of headlamps
of an oncoming truck:
up to scads
of scudding stratocumulus:
Prayer, dream,

At any time.

Now it ends
at our say so.

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