A Dream of Stillness in this Stream of Time

A Dream of Stillness in this Stream of Time

Who is this old man 
with his bent cane 
and the morning? Rain 
in the cadence of falling leaves
and you speak — what is thought 
if not a balustrade along
the wilding? Amidst this daily
pen I missed the budding of the orchid
on the sill. Flowers now. House
lights behind the vine…
root… vine… 
across the way flicker
at the miscue of the human hand, 
likely trying to conserve energy or mask 
movement. Although strange, perhaps
the latter as I’ve never
met this neighbor. He being 
the one with the red Mini 
Cooper who, shockingly, has the 
barracks of a mechanic in a garageless townhome 
between a needle pointing to the heavens
and the fathomless sea.

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The strange thing about having a window that looks out on neighbors homes is you learn their routine without knowing them. I could tell you which house wakes up early and which wakes up late, whether the bedroom or the office is on the top floor, etc. Yet, still there are always surprises. There really is a neighbor with a red Mini Cooper who is always doing work on it. It’s as if his house 850 sq ft town home accordions to accommodate the required tools.

This poem started with me looking out the window and catching my reflection in the darkness of morning (honestly kinda like how the last poem ended) and noticing age lines. Then a light came on.

Loved the way that Adrienne Lenker discussed the old man with the bent cane in this episode of Song Exploder. The image has stuck with me.

With gratitude,