The clouds and earth spin out of synch.
If I am sufficiently lazy I get to snooze,
black cat on my chest, while it is too wet
to mount the chugging goat of the mower,
avoid lopping the heads off the clover
that made it, just barely, to flower and the bees
that will come between showers to collect
the damp pollen while we stretch our old limbs
on the couch, Weather Channel radar looping
in the background, the comforting blanket of blue
and green looming on the horizon a gift to me,
with my limited understanding, and a gift to others
with no understanding at all.
                        

Today I am going to pull into a driveway,
walk into a house, pour a cup of coffee,
sit down to breakfast and get to know
these folks I’ve been passing all these years.

I might get shot or fall in love,
have the best coffee or worst scrambled eggs
in the world, see an eerie resemblance
in a family portrait, or if I’m lucky

all of the above. When the sheriff arrives
I’ll pocket my spoon, go quietly,
caress the papered kitchen wall
on the way out.