bird braned

small minded man
only capable of moving
one limb at a time
one a single plane

some said Stanley
explored out of his
comfort zone

and yet he is known
by other names
irrelevantly so.

The circle is wider than the sun
or, as the crow flies
across the radii
it would be a straight shot
between sight and
understanding
potential

the small-minded man aflit
fills his hands with too many
occupations,
he is past the limit
of how far eyes may be
set apart for depth perception.

After observing the same flight path,
year after year,
the soar-
ness sets in
and feathers fall off
my sides.

Painting by Paul Peel, 'Bringing home the flock' c. 1881, in the Public Domain.

No More than Four

It may take some time for our water 

based eyes to adjust 

                                   in the dry air

and filter out what it needs not.

The first train blares its horn 

          as it pulls through the sleepy town

tucked inside the fluffy grey marine layer.

The Amtrack gains its momentum 

          and kicks up clay sand in dusty billows,

                         while we lie stoic in its wake. 

A little later today,

as usual.

When we come out of our nocturnal coma

we start straight away, stacking up tasks, 

                                   left and right foot,

breathe and blink,                     -stretch

and then 

the mind quickens to find more 

                                         just to say

                                   no more than four

things at one time...

No way.

If I had five children- 

why the pinkie and not the thumb?

If I could split my brain in two,

perhaps I could keep track of eight...

Why the biggest brain 

                                if we are so dumb?

This one time, the same as today

while walking to the market,

                                   left, right, left, 

bread, bananas, cheese, water...

I heard the train coming,this was the light Coaster 

and I knew it was only 10 to 3.

I have time-I remember-I thought-

I smile at the passers-by, a grandmother with child, 

                                                  umbrella for the sun, 

a leash leading to a tiny dog and multiple bags in tow.

With my hand plunged into my shallow pocket 

I think I have not enough money 

                                                 for the bread. 

                    Sweat beads built on my brow

and instead of going this way,

                         corruption of a lovely day-

a needed

interruption, a line break in my path.

Now

the copper church bells peal back from atop St. Patrick's tower

and I listen in silence...

four more

Still 

my heart beats,  

with a falling 

                       bead of warm water on my cheek,

                                        and I remember to breathe.

*The number Four is based on an article from brainfacts.org.

Photo credit By "self-made" in  [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.