Beyond this small place where could I now exist
Better than here
An afternoon in the rooms of arriving friends
These bent chairs empty and waiting
Coffee pots against the wall
A boy in back turned cap
Sitting silent facing me.
It is not good to think
Beyond the fragrance of my cup of tea
Of calls waiting for return
Or yellow aspen leaves in flight.
All memory must be restrained;
Silence of my history celebrated.
So, outside this moment,
Essentials do not exist.
No woman, or child, or round of applause; no fresh caught fish;
No house with stained rounded windows; or club on the cape
With an ocean view porch.
What I need is here.
The venetian blinds raised to the ceiling,
Coffee and cake laid on wood top tables,
Tissue boxes, bottles of water,
Oddly placed ceramic clocks,
Flower vases sometimes filled,
Each exotic and lonesome,
Seeking a dance from all who come here.
I beg your pardon as my eyes close and become quite still.
and listen to those who not so quietly arrive.
Joins the dance now yet inside me.
No longer at the floor’s edge
But in its heart among those who come
To be as one, dancing not alone, but
Midst all angels; transformed, dancing.