Tide of birdsong washing over the pillow,
morning light zebrastriping the wall.
I surface to bubbles of drowsy excitement
drifting from under the bed.
The old dog is dreamhunting again.
Fug of ancient canine wafts up
like a comfortable, friendly embrace.
The world is at peace.
of a Persian blue pond
leaked out of time;
of leaves turning and
snow on the world;
of the infrasonic boom
of the planet’s lonely flight;
of the missing entries
in the log of the Marie Celeste;
of these unfolding stalks of light
(sea anemones of the soul);
out of confusion, as the way is,
and the chaos –
Because I do.
I’m not the kind to walk boldly,
barefoot. I have tried sidling
through life on stocking feet,
but in the long run it wouldn’t do.
Then I met of a pair of
sensible brown lace-ups.
They mean business and
get things done for me.
As the lace-ups leave for work,
the light-weight, cutting-edge
Gore-Tex hiking boots that live
in the mudroom tap their soles.
Sometimes in public places
an enormous pair of shiny black
clown shoes slip over my feet.
People point and laugh; I trip.
I keep away from jackboots.
They might make me march
in step, and to music
I never hope to hear again.
Thanks for joining me!
Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton