Stalking the waters of life,
I tromped across the sea grass.
Foot by foot, squishing indentations
into the wet sea-weeded sand.
My soul is hurting for a kindred spirit,
I am seeking for a shimmer through my heart,
I am seeking an annuity of memories,
I am catching at life with a pole and a lure.
How do I trust these flutter things?
this glimpse without a substance,
these unborn wishes riding in,
pulsing, panting, pulling at the reins.
And there it is! The surf at last, pounding,
pushing into the grass-riddled dunes.
From the Southern Pump Station Block House, Central Park Reservoir
MISSION FOR THE DAY:
SEARCH UP AND DOWN FOR AN ICE-FLOW (Iced over puddles count!)
DISCOVER WHETHER OR NOT IT IS SUPPORTING ANY WILDLIFE (flora or fauna)
IF SO, PONDER THE MATTER FOR AWHILE
IF NOT, WELL, ADD SOMETHING! (a leaf, a stem, a pebble, a small pet).
REPORT BACK TO HEADQUARTERS.
A traveling thought billowed into my mind
(I had a sad little broken-bottle life, till then)
Long beaches full of empty shells
with six-foot rattlers, so I hear
Water moccasins down there somewhere, too
Spiders and roaches. Which is worse?
Not a sidewalk at all in the county
Photos stick together in the mildew sun
Thirty-six story spacecraft under Climate Control.
No looking further than the front way out
No window washing, locking doors
Bouncing about like a shot without a sling,
My soul was on vacation, so maybe that was it.
Something took a nip and a tuck out from my life
So, I trimmed up for the season, and I sailed back home.
I know I should have taken up a life of crime
but, the threat seemed just too hollow.
I see the animations on the edge of time
The orbiters are swimming too close to the light.
We are all of us moths, when the flight seems right.