The World Askew and I have Hope

A Blank slate — tabla rasa

I know not the day nor the hour

only the fashion of my rhythms

awake tired, hungry, creative?

All at once and then

Not at all

my very spirit seems to be emerging

in an opening of wings so expansive

the entire universal seems to be spiraling change

also mad righteous, I’m scared of the monkey in us all right now.

Okay with that our of my system I will try to continue in full sentences.

I have come to cherish this time of distance and solitude.

For instance my dog Pearl Buttons has come to depend on my presence in this quarantine. And I have come to think her feet smell like corn chips.

I have begun to push seeds into the soil.

Cranberry beans once rescued from the Farm and Garden, and grown again by a beauty named Faith. She once lived next door and and sprouted many seeds.

I have contracted worms from Mary and Dan, only if I take care of them — the worms that is. They will give me castings

Yodeling is something I now aspire to master.

It is not to be undertaken by the faint of heart — or throat.

Nor practiced around a spouse fond of traditional warbling.

Focaccia — what can i say? it has become an obsession.

I want to knead and roll, rise and poke it every day.

Shall I become a baker on the side of the road selling inches, feet or yards?

Then I have to clean up the floor that’s dusting with flour. The live yeast dripping swollen on the edge of the cabinet.

I was not made for such things as this!

Isn’t that why god made dogs? To lick up dropped morsels.

But cleaning teaches me reverence and humbleness.

This night in mid may, the rain seeps down in a gentle steady passion.

Quite Unexpected! ’Tis unusual this time of year in California.

But the wild things outside must be gladdened by the moist and sodden stream.

As the French say “Il Pluet” Almost like “he cries”

But I do not cry for things lost but am gladdened by things found, and I have hope.