Time slurs and thoughts elide undistracted
from light’s rhythms across the cottonwoods
out back. As if on cue, Death rises unencumbered
with trivial fluff, waves, then vaguely walks away.
I could rage forward slashing through obstacles
like a petulant child scattering piles of dead leaves
without resistance to thought. Or, I could stop,
at least for a moment, and sit on the boulder
that waits where it has sat longer than the road
it sits next to has existed. Instead, I chip away
the crust encasing my skin like a sarcophagus,
pick up a few pebbles, drop them casually
into my pocket, then wander off whistling.
(May 5, 2024)
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