your head bobs to a rhythm
easy as your tears
your heart beat is opening
playing on our ears
the earth is surely rising
with your heart
no words can say it
sing your part
my soul is taken
away with you
your heart is beating
and mine is too
play loud the melody
this is not wrong
play to the heavens
sing it strong
I wonder
when I see how much time and creativity and effort and artistry
go into
creating dessert
if dessert
is a metaphor
and if so
what is it a metaphor for
does it show us that hard work pays off sweetly
or that
sweet work pays off hardly
hardly
Lay out a thick slice of heavy chewy bread
pungent with yeasty life; on it spread
mayonnaise smooth and tangy, then lay
crisp pale translucent lettuce,
slices of red raunchy tomato,
slabs of garlic-roasted beef,
shavings of sweet red onion,
salt, pepper, lay on
another generous slice of bread;
cut into sections, and bite in.
Little fingers guide the pen
easily over the vellum wild
crafting there Picasso’s wish
to draw as simply a child.
From his memory he invokes
the scene in the room below
a man, his guitar, a table and plant
and a picture frame just so.
So clean, so true is the miracle
we all know what this is:
a moment that could define the now
or a moment lost in wishes.
loud honking trucks
in our living room
zooming crashing
trains routing around
the coffee table
tall cranes swinging
large structures emerging
from the carpet
sounds of industry and effort
sputtering from future
captains of industry
under our Christmas tree