Sometimes the drops of air laugh at our impudent chuckle
and gather themselves into a breath. Sometimes
when the robin stares too long at the kitchen window,
we become her careless dream. Sometimes
the patches of nothing between the rain
know something, too, of waiting. Sometimes
I pinch myself asleep long enough to awaken again
to the resurrection of your scent. Sometimes
the sucking sound when pulling boots up from the mud
is how I hear your leaving. Sometimes
the one goose not in formation with the others,
heading where life goes are my thoughts without you. Sometimes
like old leaves pasted back on the living tree
is the sound of my cracked voice next to your song. Sometimes
like a shower in the lobby with the door open
is our talk. Sometimes
in the wordless poetry, alone,
is our silence.
4 thoughts on “Sometimes”
Powerful, brother, powerful!
I couldn’t agree more, Michael — and sheer brilliance as well!
Well shucks, fellas!
Reblogged this on Rob's Lit-Bits and commented:
Sometimes a poem works well enough to post again…sometimes.