Breaking Into a Moment     


Taking up where
Hemmingway quit,
call if you dare,
I’m approachable,
with a scent of mentality.

Getting caught,
in loving calculation,
sad, to learn a sign
of gone moments well spent.

Oh well, oh deep, deep well.
Life is a play on a stage coach,
hurling to the last curtain,
even playing the extra.

If art is life,
I’m a dangling, modified mobile,
waiting for a distracted
and mutually overwhelmed audience,
pass by on your way,
finding sanctuary in dreams,
fond memories, daily routines,
tasks, profound concerns
and solstice affections.

Wee morsel of life,
three pears, a glass of wine,
a painting framed,
beside the side door exit.


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