November 22, 2018
A perfect scene for a slightly unusual day
A winding dusty dirt road lined with aspens
Red boulders poking heads in the sunset
Like bashful finger puppets
And birds bobbing pin-pricking
A broken down car
Crooked and sad
And the stop sign sags too
It will not stop you if you don’t heed his warning.
At this point, it does not care for your well-being
And Mr. Robin
Pops like a ferris wheel
Up and down the dirt road
Underneath the telephone wires
That run in zigzag 1940s-stye.
It’s Mr. Robin
Obvoiusly the same guy over and over
Like a fairweathered Where’s Waldo.
Fat and curious and shy and flirting
A lover of blueberries and worms and not much else.
He is there and here and there
And gone.
A broken-down shack
It sags and sways like seagrass on the ocean floor
In line with the mountain and the clouds and the tree-lined rooftops
All leaning as if listening with invisible ears
To the sky and the wisps bits of thunder
The only things angler, jutting, biting
Along my point of view.
This day is a slant
A sag
A droop
A curve
A whine
A whistle
This day is Divine
Yes,
Absolutely, unequivicably, very much sublimely
Divine.