Preoccupied... Poem by RIC BASTASA

the paths mend
themselves
grasses know how
to sew what
familiarity is torn
the rivers too
know how to wind and
unwind
they curl upon
the banks and
carry those lonely
rocks
the tree that were cut
are quick with
their buds
the clouds that flee
come back with
glee
the horses that die
always replace
what is gone
with a number of
their youngs
these changes
mesmerize
these new views
hypnotize
and those unwary
and preoccupied
do not notice that
we have long been
gone