Wobble in the walk

Did you ever go clear?

I’m just sitting here in the shade, an occasional breeze, people walking by, wondering if I could just stop trying to figure everything out.

I got two hands for everything – the one hand and the other - but I want an answer that is simple. I want to be easy in my mind.

Let’s go with song lyrics, Mr. Simon. When something goes right, I’m the first one to admit it, and the last one to know.

Mindfulness. Just let the thoughts come to you. Look at reality, the people on the sidewalk, the baby in the buggy. One thing at a time. Or two.

Two young men crossing the street. Why should one, hands in his pocket, be laughing and talking at the same time?

It’s a crazy world. Boy walks down the street, got a short span of attention.

But surely I would not be convicted of jury of my peers.

Kid with the orange shoes, black swoosh. He’s got a wobble in his walk. Sounds vaguely familiar. I mean the line. But I don’t recall that line. Doesn’t really matter. I’ve been using words I picked up from other people for years.

But I’m just sitting here in the shade, an occasional breeze, people walking by.

It all begins to sound like a song to me now.

I guess I don’t have to put it all together.

But I wonder whatever happened to the guy with the lime green T-shirt, the orange shoes, who walked with the wobble in his walk as he laughed and talked at the same time.

Moon-colored

  

I wanted not to say how pretty you looked,

standing there in your rose-colored dress.

I wanted rather to ask you if you had seen the moon

high and bright the other night.

Of course, we would have been standing then

miles apart among the city chorus of cicadas.

But the distance really makes no difference

any more than it matters how pretty you look.

I had only wanted to know if you had noticed

how the shining moon left silvery streaks

on thick threads of wispy clouds across

the blue-black sky.

But then you turned away from me

and I saw your slender back,

a wide crescent of moon-colored skin crossed

by rose-colored strips of cloth.

And then I wanted not to tell you

of the stars above

or your glittering eyes below.

I wanted only to see your face

by the night-colored light of the moon.

Just a moment

Just a moment

The world happens too fast.

If I could slow everything at will,

just the wind in the branches,

sunlight catching leaves,

greens and shades of green,

the obvious is not really,

a branch bends,

another swirls,

as the wind pushes and pulls.

But the time is already past

and gone, leaving me feeling as if

I have missed almost everything.

But why should I fret?

The tree is still there

across the street,

the pale yellow building

making each leaf plain.

And the branches

haven’t begun to stop their dancing.

Perhaps the wind will settle,

but sooner will I turn away.

I only want to slow this moment,

the one that I want to keep,

and savor it until I,

in all the universe,

am satisfied.