Better to think about frivolous things,
let the senses guide, not the keen
mind that build a narrative of life;
take a mug of coffee outside
into the golden, cold land of light,
watch steam rise from the mug,
your breath vaporize, make
a hokku of that, warm in your
coat; think not of the year
ago heartbreak, the loss of living
things, how the known world
grows ever smaller, as for an
ancient mariner, yet never leaving
the shore where wrecked, your
circumnavigation these decades;
the mapped seas, now shallow
and their monsters slain, close,
and existence languidly folds on
itself - into these gold, cold days
and starry nights, into bleak
hours wrapt in gray haze, silence
that follows the last migrating bird's
call. Now just think of fleeting things,
embed in them in this, your momentary
being, let the sharp and broken whole
be; all that exists beyond heartbeats
when a mug of coffee is drank, your
hands feel the chill - let that be,
among long autumn's fallen leaves
think about frivolous things.
21.10.2023
#Poem #Poems #Poetry #Verse
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