From The Other Side of the Road

Why?

From The Other Side of the Road

Amidst royal lavender,
bees touch without touching,
indecisive or buddhist.
Two pigeons sit every morning
in the same place, doing
what I could only describe
as necking.

A cluck from just behind the neighbor’s,
then, nearer, a low rambler in
the middle of the street,
head roaring like a theragun.
“They do this more than you’d think”
said the fencepost, watering the plants.

You snuck a photo—captioned it why.
Even in places that seem
more asphalt than being,
heavy with the unbearable heft of a question
unanswered, everything speaking.

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It’s funny when you’re uniquely attuned to a moment that would have otherwise been fully unremarkable. As Robert Macfarlane says in Landmarks, words help us see. In this case, a tired, old joke helped me see.

The Tao te Ching talks about sweeping the step like the shadow of a branch, touching nothing.

Like I said last week, I’m going to start running these little “Where is Mason Pashia?” poems after “Where is Jim Harrison” by Jim Harrison. I find it to be a great mechanism for getting unstuck.

Where is Mason Pashia?

Stop in front of the cafe. Don’t enter.
Think for a moment about opening your own,
Decide against it—imagine the sheer amount of
milk and the cows… not to mention the cows.

Thanks, D, for the photo, and the joke.

With Gratitude,