80’s Band sings from the morning big hair Sitting in a green velvet chair Wearing that thinking look in the pauses Between pulls of sweet herbal pipe smoke The sounds of Birdsong and nailguns Compete then mysteriously complete each other as they dance through the open window Church bells at every quarter round out the cacophonous symphony of A quiet morning. Alchemy, all of it We choose our level of engagement Whether silent oracle cards feed the conversation Or vulnerable sighs call us to cosmic communion It is lovely to know and be known Fellow travelers for moments eternal because, Presence And fleeting because the whole game is Pretend Still I am stirred like a lake under a breeze at the cadence and timbre of the word Beautiful As it escapes your lips and Waits at the door of someone’s dark story like a costumed child on Halloween, A startled softening surprised by Sweetness We glance at each other across this mystery Seldom confused cause we’re both fully amused That George was right about so many things, but mostly about The evening ritual of Popcorn.
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