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...
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