Wake up while you are awake

some sounds crack your soul open

a turn of phrase
an odd lilt in a voice
a fork-producing offer
a beat placed just so
a tenderness in a name called
a hoot-cry above your doorframe

and in that second before

         your soul      knows      itself again

you could accomplish so much

if only you were home

to straighten the shelves of your character
to put away cracked regrets
to putty fine crazes in your memories
to toss a tablecloth to hide pride

But alas,

yet another chance has slipped away

while you paused

and half-smiled
at your mind's eye's showing for the day.

 

Next show will be at dawn

brought on by a whiff of lilacs

on the morning breeze.