? The Metaphysical Club

The Metaphysical Club

It was supposed to be entertaining.
Torches and all.
Only that friends forgot
and instead the moon plays tricks.
Ouch! a rattling represents
a bike on the ground.
That's why moonlight's called analytic --
sharp edges, flowing depths.
Damn curiosity, or perhaps I was just searching
for my friends --
and I got lost. Dragged into the silent theater.
Plucking up courage to give in.
Flow out of concern.

Sun is green,
and blue, and yellow.
Tall trees invite day from behind the shed
and there is the garden bench.
Bees wake up.
Oatmeal with honey.

[just a comfort poem]

***

shall I call you?
the monads of firelight flicker but a while
and I haven't learnt anything today
shall I tell you...
since I think you know
and since the
here-be-dragons are dyed gunpowder
and the roaming trail is a stain from my
supper-busy fingers

I've cheated on you
-- from the day undone
I bottle an apology
I'll set it in the vastness of my heart
to drift away

so it floats into the fjords
of your sleep sheet