The Path
How I came to this moment and place
- the machinations of peripheries-
I could not begin to describe.
Nor could Einstein, Hawkings or Galleleo
working as a team
conjure up a formula that would make a lick of sense.
Only, I think, Rube Goldberg, Charlie Chaplin,
maybe Woody Allen (mid-career, donÕt you agree?)
could understand the path we stumble along
to arrive at our most obvious destinations.
So here I am-
my yesterday surprised and not sure
of my today.
But I can at least say
look here I am-
What a view-
I had no idea-
IsnÕt it interesting how-
Why the hell did I-
while somewhere up ahead
I am watching myself and smiling.
II
There is something comforting about a cemetery-
especially when the head stones are as clean and uniform as these
white marble crosses
growing out of a chemically controlled lawn
(grass without mood swings, anxiety, dandelions or crabgrass.)
From here the moments seem thicker, fuller-
as if you could see the patterns of so many years,
so many cycles
piled high and deep all around.
Š or maybe itÕs just that IÕm over fifty now
talking to a dead man I hardly knew
(almost kind of my father)
Not really looking for answers,
just taking a breath before getting back on the path.
© Joe Thompson „ www.imaginesongs.com
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