Idle Thoughts With a View
Idle thoughts have me replaying
the cry of an owl I heard
last night when half asleep
and swear it flew a silent course
through the center of a dream
and then, this morning,
I had myself picking a splotch
of sunlight from a leaf to hold
in my hand before it flew away
on a sudden gust of wind.
Then, off I went to break
a sagging spiders web hung
with beads of dew and stretched
across my path, a sticky wet cling
of thread finally letting go
to set my morning free.
One day, I fear, I shall
fold myself up and let
my idle thoughts metamorphose
into me, taking a room with a view
on the second floor of my poetry.
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