late afternoon in a dark brown November
apple boxes swirl on windy gusts of frosty air
rushing so fast and struggling to make another sorry transition
a sudden idea so sweet and real strikes my face and spine
bound by the limits of a dry old page I strangle to convey the experience
packing to leave again and run away from today’s Titanic
I realize I will just return to this very spot where the apple boxes live
belonging to this block of earth where so much life inhabits and grows
I know I am coming back here
where God speaks
where the well flows
where madness rages
where it makes sense
where snow falls
where grammar is corrected
Closing my eyes I still can see those boxes swirl and bounce
tornadoes of brooding notions followed by events so strange
it was a cold Monday when time stood still and spoke right to me
and winked like Jack-in-the-apple-box
a clown smiled and my soul went home and I went with him