Wednesday, May 22, 2013


Though something deep
inside me quaked, I somehow stopped
along the storm-
flushed path to work to wonder
for a minute whether

the first man sitting 
in the right chair working 
at the best time pouring 
over clean paper gleaming 
in a bright room musing could ever 
come out with the preeminent thing concerning  

blithe beauty of birdsongs, or about the spaces inter-
rupting fence posts, or maybe
some stony analogy regarding our 
selves and lonesome desiccated pine cones—

but just as quick, I dropped 
the thought and figured 
I'd just as soon find out and hurried, somewhat 
sweaty, toward my building
to find the nearest, cleanest, brightest
public toilet to perch on.