Wander wide, allow for poetry of a different kind -
cadence and kerfuffle, the heart's rising above
a familiar chaos of subjects. On the late afternoon wall,
paintings in the making, canvas acrobats hang
on our every word. Bare feet yield to black water.
Beyond the frame, life is a risky business.
Jack-in-the-box. Angel. Thief. Some days
a blackbird at ease with the rhyme and chime
of every unknown thing. Like the signs written in dust
after vultures have flown or the bones a shaman rolls,
clues clatter and scatter; each piece falls to earth
and order, takes its place in the heart's vast chamber.
©CB [from 'The Clock in the Cul-de-sac Marks the Hour']
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