Another day rolls by
and I
along with it
incubate.
I try
to focus
on a
single
spoke
in the blur of spin
one catches
light,
and squeezes
it
into
sound
high above
the audible range
one carries a note,
and belts out
lashing with it,
create, wait, create, wait, create, wait
bare-backed
swinging both ways,
naturally
and only
through the gait
known distinctly
as your
body
and work
as an address.
A watch swings alongside
reminding me of the beat.
It is time to hibernate.
I count the cat's eyes
staggered and lining up
in the middle of the street
until the glare
broke
into poetic little pieces
like litter.
Artwork by Robert Delaunay [Public domain], 'The Tower and the Wheel' c. 1912-1913, located in the Museum of Modern Art.
