The bird stirred
And the apple dropped
Like an idea
Squirrel scurried
And pinecone popped
Underfoot
The fine roam
Of the cloud
Streaked by sun
And the tea
In the giant kettle
Flung flavours
Into
Mouths
Smoke rose from
Chimneys
Like shifts
For
Bare geese
It was time for the appointment
In between realities
The timer flashed zeros
Magnanimously
Still he lingered on
Gripping his umbrella
This stubborn fella
“Oh Bend-ee, Bend-ee, the veend, the veend…”
He was speaking to his dog Benji about the ineffability of the wind.
Recalling recalling
When the tree took fire
Sitting on the porch remembering
On that porch
Where spark to birch
Pondering
While other wonders
Were happening.
The fair-haired one in the window
Gave him a scare
When he stood below the chandelier
Looking up it twisted his guts
Apparition in the kitchen
He could see through to the peanut butter
The floorboards didn’t quite settle
His nerves like a tea kettle
The landline’s echoey connection
Gave everyone a Bela Lugosi impression
They just weren’t coming through
So he knew what he had to do
Made some hooey up about
What was going to happen
This Thursday on his bicycle
He would snap a rim and go tumbling
Into the abyss
His countenance went rigid with shock
Under the table he made a knock
That’s just how it is
But I’m no bicyclist
Yes you’d better learn to walk
And thats when they came through
A wind began to blow
They just made something up
That he could not follow
Two limp boots
Red handkerchief
Retro soup cans
Dirty hands that
Grab at your cheap tracksuit
The shadow cast from the top of the stair
A crooked hand beckons
Climbing the steps it recedes
To an inner sanctum
The Wheeled [sic] Chair grinds and creaks
And the face loses its cover
Eyes that could be found in the
Ground of some warring African nation
A nose that intrudes on the fair
And pleasant
And wrinkles and moles of
Some witch or magician
Pulling the lever on the chair
When he was briefly not looking
Sends him spinning through
The window where the moon
Was peeking
Not ten pennies
Or a nickel
Whipped bare back
Scoured with sickle
The librarian cross-armed
Looked for remorse
Across the face sweat coursed
At a loss why
Nicholas Nickleby
Were permanently affixed
At quarter past six
Surprise
When she awoke
Did not register
One at the chin
One at the ear