research with your toys
science means mind adventures...
it's how progress' made
old sol's on the deck
now every day for ten hours...
the floors thirty boards
wide posts and railings
to act as marker shadows...
on sun dial marked tape
scaled three boards per hour
twenty minutes for one plank...
three for every inch
at middle of year
july first twenty nineteen...
a water clock next
stan sand
The river
from a distance
is
a plate of glass
a looking glass
riddled with
images and visages
of memories
and pain
rain beats down
on the cool veranda
as we listen
to the breathing
of the night
and all its
dimensions
and the pretensions
of a pumpkin-faced
moon
On the banks
of the river
up close
we smell
the fresh race
of hydrogen
and oxygen
sweet berries
wildflowers
lush grass
and microbes
rushing
without halt
whispering
to the trees
and sun
and soil
and whoever
else
might be
leaning in
and listening
Water Clock
Drip-drip sings in my ancient ears.
So close to the bowl I see the rings.
It dings out the hours every sixty.
Tick-tock sings in my present ears.
So close to the tower when it chimes.
It rings out the hours every sixty.
Crest-trough sings in my future ears.
So close to the wave I see the vibrations.
It sings out the hours every sixty.
a dream as years go by,
water clock drip ticks,
another revolution,
minutes flown away,
hearts fluttered wide,
sepia childhood silhouetted,
a grip lost in snap-the-whip,
and glimpsing restless spirits,
crowding heaven’s gate,
gold plated, iron bound,
others just waiting,
familiar indistinct,
while clouds like knotted cotton,
frame a high blue portico above,
a formless basilica,
slow vision of his spirit,
becomes a shining arrow knock’d,
loosed at that far off shore,
flown true, and gone,
as the wind cries a pure tone,
on that played out jazz piano,
coda to another’s life,
like a tragic symphony,
somehow filled with hope,
his last music…
(I miss it so).
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