Ten Minutes Poem by R.S. Farris

the air stands close and still.
time pauses, poised upon
the movement of a hand,
until the releasing, the beckoning noise
will shatter all, capitulate
the world around me into motion
once again.

the sidewalk stretched before me is
m own. i'm free, if fancy captures
me, to think the pine cone skipping
down the road is rather like your head-
i need not fear uplifted brow or patronizing
eyes if i desire to paint the tiny bursts of
color in the grass as small, uplifted faces,
singing harmony to softly-flowing melodies
created by the breeze now rippling the
grass. no one is here to smile at my cloud-
pictures, bits of string caught in the
wind; this moment is my own and mine alone.