Invitation Poem by Troy Cochran

The river flows where no one knows,
around your shins and through your toes.

A breeze is blowing through your nose
that played a little with the rose.

And so it goes:another season comes around,
the hour throws it on the ground.

And where the daily repetitions meet
to trample minutes under feet

and make of time a little street,
and of eternity, a beat,

so falls the gaze of something very tall
dangling heavens from a wall,

throws the sun across the sky
like a little ball, from left to right,

to give your momentary days a little light
as if to say:

"Come play!Leave your troubles at the wall,
there is no room for them at all."

So goes the gist of what I had to say.
Now I've said it, said it all.

You have the ball.