Poetry
The skull painting looks like a piece of burnt toast
And Giovanni is singing opera on the phone.
The distances we take for the sake of love the possibility of a connection
How far we will traverse with pen and ink or the clicking of a keyboard
Or the tapping of a devices face.
So out of place within time
Everything we do is on another’s dime
The man hunched over on the street high on the sublime
Talking to his shadow
The ins and out of a dreams foreshadow.
There is a hallow within us all
A wheelbarrow sized amount
That we hoist on one wheel
And walk with hope to connect to the most
Ambitious anomaly of a feeling
Something that mirrors divinity and compassion without kneeling
Unfolded fashion and swirling sheets
A cloud form exposed and vanishing
In a heart beat.
The patterning of rain creating widening circles
Our eyes, the orbiters of observations soul
A bucket carrying a blanket
A turret in the moonlight
The brightest of days
The harkening of the movement in every song
Spinning your cylinder of limbs
Till the soles of your shoes wear thin.
A man’s stands in a window
Holding his lover
The traffic races trying to outspend
The hereafter
The laughter of a baby
Brightened the onlookers eyes
And removed all the loses
Without dice on a table of goodbyes.
Enable what you can while you stand
Mystified in the magnificence of it all.
The beauty will bring you back to the crawl and the clock
Will cloak you in hours till the last one chimes
That minute is placed on your back
is heavier than all the leaves that
fall.
Francis a Willey
December 14th 2021