Thoughts of An Afternoon

On this spring afternoon, I lay my body, Belly-down on the warm deck, Head in my arms. I hear birds making Ugly noises that can't Be called chirps. I know that this is what The birds do all day, Everyday. What are they trying to say? Their sounds seem pointless, but That doesn't bother them. I am not a bird. I know I have something To say. I don't want To do stupid things Everyday. I still feel glued To the porch as I lay here. My body is tired, but My mind is steadfast In its own alertness. Face down, I can peer Through the skinny slats in the deck. There are unsightly things down There in that crawl space beneath, Such as a thick layer Of rotten leaves. The fresh wind can't reach The leaves under the deck, So I'm certain That they'll sit In that same spot Forever. I'm surprised by a sneeze, And my thoughts of the leaves Are swept away from my mind. My attention is turned To the tiny puff of dust that I disturbed. The little specks float about, But they really don't have Any choice at all About where they're going As I'm softly blowing Them farther away...