justwrite 23 march

leaning toward the weather that’s not now not ever going in the right direction we make corrections you take direction well but that’s not your only feature there’s more than meets your eye at the first potato we’ve got rows to mow but not much to show for how long it’s already been we’re swimming backward and you’ve got to know how hard that is but it’s easier than drowning which is one way to look at it to book a bit differently we’ve spent our leisure hours our candled flowers all along the windowsill the garden fills itself with light and birds glide by in constant surprise at the growth of color an expansion plan poorly explained to all who remain nearby in the satellite positions the raindrops glisten on a nostalgic window bringing the curtain closed and again open hoping for remembering to turn into reality the scandals of a thousand scarves the harbor that never closes and the roses that will not wilt I’m filled up with suggestions but the alternative corrections seem too mean to spout from this mouth if I had to tell you differently you’d rather not listen if I had to give you everything I’d throw the kitchen sink in but luckily as it seems you’re happy enough with dreams of something better and walking away that’s what you take and riding away you take your mistakes and toss them out the window higher and lighter through the clouds nothing’s allowed to touch you now and off you go and through and around and there’s nothing for me in that old town there’s nothing there to tie me down and there’s nothing left to keep the space warm safe laced with irony she stops tightening and turns away playing it cool there’s no fooling these fingers and my mind says what it wants though this isn’t what I’m thinking of there’s no way though to wear a glove thick enough to keep my fingers from telling on my mind and in the meantime it’s just fine to write to myself to toast my own health and to toss it onto the field in an ivy league tradition in an ancient stadium by American standards which is just what we’ve been handed for the lateness with which we landed