Monday, July 31, 2006
It usually happens suddenly—
Somewhere between coffee and smiles.
Somewhere inside the busy language
Rests a quiet thickening—a moment
Swelling against the barriers of attention.
First it calls like a wind, an alerting
Breath. An altering pause—and you stare
Deep inside the faces of your companions
And you instead find a story, a muse.
Between sips they lose you—
All they want is prose and advice
All you search for is a pen, a memory—
A scent to recount your daily genius,
A napkin perhaps. Anything to write
And collect this intruding tone
Baking your day into a poem.