I notice my pace seems quicker
since rising early with dawn’s effusive light
to wresting chirped songs
interceding my dreamscape
urging my love
our intimate kiss must wait.
And, in her bid farewell
she reminds me in bated breath
to call upon her
in a lingering expectation,
as the songbirds fly sprightly out of mind
flocking to assorted branches
of the sycamore reaching skyward past my window.
The shower, the shave, the other daily elements
behave in an unobtrusive way,
no razor cuts,
plenty of black coffee,
clothes laid out organized,
listed To-Do’s scribed out beforehand,
and I guess that’s the thing,
as I sit with coffee, bagel smitten in cream cheese,
collies prancing for reentry,
why today, does life seem more paced, even?
Is it my love who visits in dreams? Perhaps.
I ponder on the soft crunch of bagel,
catching yesterday’s headline
the “Tsunami Disaster Relief Begins”,
and I imagine what it would have been like that
fateful Sunday morning, strolling the beach with my lover,
with tall palms rustling from ocean breezes,
sand warming open feet,
the smell of sea rooted in life washed ashore
wrinkling our noses,
and then looking up,
to see the horizon not where it use to be
at first disoriented
until we hear the panic
both faceless victims to circumstance.
And, I realize amidst my pensive meditation
the songbirds are calling in a resonate entreaty
unified in their eternal legato song
to our dreams passed through
in their transparent nocturnal flight of, yes....
remembrance.
- Mark Trubisky
Copyright © 2002 Yellow Brick Road Gallery. All
rights reserved in pictorial or written representation.
Revised: 01/07/06.