Tuesday, November 3, 2020

6 yr stop

a thing gets stuck. 

frozen and numbed in nuance. 

until the big (ah)wareness to change. 
the sculpting clay of repetition was once rich and wet.

the caliche blew hard and the coyote moon ate up dreams. 
the sagging saguaro blew rain upside-down 
the old whistling was ground into gears of pace and ingenuity. 

until there were these eyes, 
i thought i knew the time. 

rotted in routine, 
now thawing,  
praying...still asking,