Listening

Sometime I am blinded of what I know

Prevents me from listening

At the end of the tunnel, I hope, is another way

And in the ocean, after I hoist a sail

The wind will pick up

And carry me to a wider reality.

 

I start putting words in my pocket

The birds start picking and scatter them

Some fall on front yards, others on the river

Fish snatch the floating words

The fishermen jump with surprise

People come out of their doors and greet me 

I feel embarrassed, I answer with greetings

I’m thankful, their dogs like me

Tomorrow I will take a basketful of words to the Farmer’s Market 

I will sit next to the mushroom grower

She tells stories about creatures in the forest

I will be a good listener.

It escapes me

I’m looking at the white heron
stepping daintily on the muddy riverbank at low tide
I’m thinking what I want to write today
The thought escapes and now a fugitive
To search between coherence and acceptance,
silence is not easy, formlessness can’t remain.
The pendulum will swing back
carrying some words stitched together
one half haphazardly, the other half arranged like a quilt.

I’m between thoughts
being ahead or being behind has no meaning when one is not hurrying,
still, we want to reach the finish line.

Finding you and continue our dialogue
can be exhausting though you are buoyant
I want to share your optimism.fullsizeoutput_29dd

How does a mind work?

My mind

scutters like autumn leaves

looking for words

under the boulders

separating hallucinations

from dry twigs

misty trees from spider webs

lonely words inside a secluded soul

flowing voicelessly in the river

of memory.

 

How can I spin

the words into silk?

How can my imagination

seed the clouds

rain spilling in torrents

washing over the obelisks and memorials

first try and second chances

and try all over again?

 

note: Mrs. Abstract and I are driving through the rain on the way to Oregon.

I’m currently reading Ray Bradbury’s Martian Chronicles.