Poetry

They bounce between branches With fluttering wings and Playful morning flight Chicadees laughing chirps Muted through the window On my walk over Amongst the purring of engines and Squealing of power tools The faintest of buzzing alerts me To the diligent bee returning to his flowers

Bright lights in strict pattern Fasten your seat belts The plane is landing soon The constant stream A fixed arc through the sky Of people shuttled into the city Controlled and ordered Unlike each disembarking The runway a boundary between order and chaos Once on the ground Human humdrum returns So enjoy those final minutes

Walking through a museum you see messages and visions all now frozen in artifacts, now alone. What matters how you got there for every train bus and car somehow are the same. Each afixed with a window. And when illuminated, your reflection looks back from the dark.

It was lost in translation between the flips of the page. Words tossed in the air among dancers cross stage. I sat hunched over a dictionary texts, translations, pen in hand. The music always stops mournful looks from the band Many frozen messages between present and past. On my paper a muted melody diminished a voice at last I may finally understand but now it's far too late. Any long winded reply will forever have to wait