out back counting clouds

out back
on swing
looking at
clouds pass
slowly - a thought
or ten connected to
each one.

and the sun
beats down
and my arms
and hands
turn red.

no charcoal
pencils today.
just listening to
the way the world
spins without us
feeling it some-
times.

the image is
sketched in
my mind,
though,
as time
slows
then goes
faster.

each cloud a
fairy tale kingdom
complete in itself.

the poet sees how
they change shape
as they drift through
the sky as ships of
imaginary stories.

out back counting
clouds - lost in
thought - so
many of
work
again - the
dream to
help the
people.

is a poet
ever a man
of action, though?

to ask the question
is the first step.

start from where
you are - now.

this moment
branches out
into any number
of possibilities and
the joy of this world is
in knowing that if you keep
moving you're bound to see
new things, feel new things.

out back counting clouds and
the shroud is slowly lifted and
the light shines down and the
world spins but i can start to
feel it again - one foot in space,
one half of my brain in the clouds
and the flower from my grey matter
continues to thrive but it slows down
with no water to feed it. not-water needs
water sometimes. and it falls from the clouds.

sometimes the clouds collide and create
new formations.

out back counting clouds and in my mind i
know it's time to get up and go again, chase
down the last bit of the dream, but the poet in
me is still a little sad at leaving this spot, this
place in space and time. counting clouds out
back all alone isn't the right road at this time.

so i capture as much of it as i can during breaks
and work the web like the web likes to be worked
and time continues to pass - the earth continues
to spin - and the clouds will be around somewhere
as i survey the new path in front of me - another
period of crossroads - branches in existence.