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)