so much senseless beauty
this profusion of forms
some made, some grown
some built of sand and powdered bone
these empty chairs
this ceiling fan
the horns and guitars of this rock and roll band
singing 'after the rain' while clouds ascend
on a rising wind
and the world shakes itself awake
again from under this blanket
of autumn dew that washes each
leaf, each blade of grass
each window on the cars that pass
these lovers at the bus stop of morning
eyes drawn in with crayons, hands
tethered together waiting
for all that's known and certain
to grow unfamiliar again
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