justwrite 6 september

the progress being made the dreams being weighed have stayed within the limit the carryon is lighter than imagined but the checked deck is unlimitedly stacked we’ve cracked open the oranges and peeled all the eggs as we gather sea legs all together and jump into the air we’re faring well for those traveling nowhere and the breeze is strong enough to carry us along enough down the coast that we can make time for toast in the tropics and sunsets in the pines it’s a fine time to be inside but the air is made of color and the light is full of glass blown out of proportion distorting the long view and I’ll tell you I’d be happy to hear what you have to think but that’s hardly to say that I’m perched on the brink of another birdcage stage we are all the singers we are more than just ringers around these rosies we have our supposings and more or less growing up and over bounds and in and out of sound decisions we rush toward collisions and dance the salsa we were supposed to eat and end up with spicy lively feet we meet ourselves on the street and take secondhand glances out of backhand eyecorners we greet all comers by the numbers and paint by colors undiscovered by professional fields we yield to passers-by and spy on the nexts resting in the clouds too loud to sleep through and deeper than pillows