ramblin near the crossroads during a pilgrimage

we could go either way
or we could go straight
or we could turn around and go back
the way we came

these are always the choices
in the morning one commits
to play
some music another smokes
a cigarette and another kneels
in the garden to get the last peppers

nothing more happens
nothing more is right

afternoons in autumn
can last forever
if summer preparations are adequate
by all means avoid
anxiety in the autumn
it is a time to take it easy
stack some firewood
smell the air
eat soup
pick a few vines
and call it good
it's harvest time

i may have forgotten by now just how
precious the shared goods can be
when the gardens turn to brown
and the blade of the tiller
is all that can be known

aftershocks are the rumble in the belly
after the quake to match all quakes
presumes to make theyselfs
known
ride it out and laugh
the earth is coughing
belching farting grunting spewing
somewhere the earth is shrugging
and waking from sleep

some are prone to measure time thus
by the extraordinary events
by the deaths the first groinal ballet
the empty days of tending to the needs of a toddler
the days of terrible illness
the days of heightened awareness
the days of unbelievable occurrences

everything else is gliding on the surface
we share time with everyone thus
but the moment rivetted with
pain and sorrow and perhaps even eventually joy
that is the stuff of
deep time

deep time has a rhyme
keeps its feet in the thyme
juggles all the drinks
like turpentine
feeds the myna birds
feeds the swine
deep time baby
we are talkin about
deep time now

th
e poem

ends


her

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