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The Way it Is
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Flying Free Here we are again,
on a most ordinary day,
neither awake nor asleep.
The weather alters in
intervals, rain, wind, and
sun.
This stop-and-go relationship,
as random as the words
that describe it.
If we were less like ourselves
than we are, or had met
in a different world,
maybe we could see through
this irreducible union.
The morning makes conscious
sounds, a machine runs somewhere
in the distance.
I turn up the Bose, and watch
the flickering candles disappear.
Visions of kimonos and lanterns
restore my sanity.
In the morning stillness,
I have an empty feeling that
I am just biding my time.
