I held my life up to the sun
and traced around its edges;
they were as smooth as could be expected.
A cross-section of a butterfly wing
stacks of colors,
nature and her graffiti
How it falls quick from our mind’s eye
as it looses our attention.
I wonder how it dissipates so smoothly;
like its been here before and left - out the same door.
Like a poem about D.B. Cooper named:
“The Poor Cult and The Wealth of It’s Personality.”
There’s a harmony. Sounds (tip-toeing) drops
from a waterfall or maybe a faucet.
It stirs me awake
so I take the moment to check my pulse
and I hear my Life tick-tock.
It sounds like this: “Thump, Thump.”
My God pays overtime, so I police my health.
It is why it may be a surprise, but it won’t be a coup,
on my watch.
I say when it is all over, life is a straight line.
Straight and beautiful.
I almost expect to hear the clouds cheer -
when they part
to let the sun back through.
2008
