A Starling rummages through my brain for the morsels
that are not there as I watch him eat breakfast...the kitchen sink drums softly noticeable.

The edging of the compost container catches my eye,
it could have been mistaken for a flower just then;
a rose yawning against the early morning light.

Two Finches flirt amongst the rooftops as I sit here inside...watching for signs of poetry, for some movement on the pages outside.

It is raining, has been all morning as I light up another cigarette. Need to take a shower this morning, get dressed for an interview.

And as my thoughts carry me away to more pleasurable places, I try to retrace the footsteps where experience had been as light as spring summer months without anxiety...

without a troubled mind about mortality and the finiteness of everything that is incorrigably plural,
a faint sound heard when passing children playing...

Without a care in the world.

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