I
learned
something today.
Light begins as a point.
But with time expands in a conical fashion
diameter growing as it encompasses more and more of its surroundings.

Is it enough that the light reaches regardless of
brilliance? Would you tell the light to stop?
Could you ask it to conserve its energy?

Or should we turn off the
vacuum, put up our
walls and give the
light a finite
space to
shine
on.

"They couldn't find their way home."
the man on the bench chants to anypassingone.
in the hollow across the way
a brass band is playing.
notes made visible by gathering smoke.
that mother this child
swing-dancing to the mid-day improvisers.
and on a flat dirt road
not quite near to here
a soloist jives to a separate tune.

Have you been here before?

One foot in front of the other
blazing stainless snow with purpose.
Forward
forward through unwitnessed beauty and feeling
not the first appreciator
but the final stroke
in a work of art that has lain dormant for as long as you can remember
but was completed in a breath.

An exhale, specifically.
That's all it took.
Yes steaming silently out of your mouth
like a yawn held too long on a winter morning.

Forward but not necessarily straight.

Dancing with no partner
Glancing back only to see the web of your solitary foxtrot
laid bare on the forest floor.
This tangled path
danced to no music
aided by no person
you almost believe it's your story.
And then you look up.

Steady lights framed by such known walls.
Streams of quiet smoke filter into the atmosphere
and sound returns.
Laughter songs and well-worn voices rush to you.

And here in the forest leaves crackle.

The storm threw away your agenda today.
Voices hushed by the break of thunder.
Errands stalled by the pounding rain
chasing up the boards
of the porch
to the front door.

Stay here in your sockfeet.
Dance on the newly swept floor.
And if you must go outside,
stay under the eaves.
Hop quickly.
Land in a rocker and let it move you.

The gray skies will only last for so long.
Idleness is only so forgivable.