afterthought
from a work in progress: “process, not a journey” (56)
a residue lingers in air
it curls like cats purr
their self-absorbed song
between your feet
and the lies you stand upon
most days the end of the sentence
arrives long after your focus
has blurred and you’ve slipped
from the book stunned
by the light in the street
no one but you sees the rabbit
scurry down the hole
for like a wolf the brush devours
any trace of stillness that remains
between the bluebonnets and clover
these are your thoughts your dislocations
like a floral hint upon a breeze
they vanish as you turn lost
in the thought you lost in turn
(April 24, 2020)
subtext 