the book of transitions

Patched

The leaves are falling slowly
like a million kites in the sky

against the sidewalk
and the puddles
soaking up the last

of the season
the debris and dirt

it's back to number
crunching

to calendars and no light

but we're looking
continuously

for a burst in the pipe
an overflow
of ideas

to warm us on winter nights

making sure to mind
our idleness

with busy hands
and heads computing
the next big thing

I'm sitting
trying to remember
how to make
the tattered pieces
into a spirit enlightened

by time

pushing pulling
until everything is patched over

526

Threshold.

I'm sitting at the edge of a rock
spinning

and watching as the threshold opens
into a meandering wave of
polarity

searching for a manner
in which to guide
the needle north

as it tumbles out of control
spinning

fixate now on familiarity
in this unfamiliar terrain

slide against the grains
that oppose you
digging further deeper downward

banging our heads together for
a mighty solution
that will alleviate
all these worries
cascading

a thin sliver
is all that separates
us

my fists are closed and ready
my feet firmly on the ground
waiting to pounce

a victory in sight
and defeat in the rear view
spinning

determined to break through

Splash

Ripple

Bouncing off spectrums
refracting light
in the shadows and
back and again

Crumpled paper
in a heap
in the corner
like a stack of lost hopes

in numbers and odds

down to exact times
cuttings
remnants

made anew

the vibrations coursing
through my aching bones
my spine and wrist

scratches against the hairless
skin

falling out all over the floor
picking up the scraps
and throwing them away

to end up in some other form
and it starts all over again

Under the Big Top finished