poesia cuando también cerró se al ventana...

poesia cuando también cerró se al ventana

I sit here 
on a Sunday afternoon 
looking out 
from my study 
listening to Paco De Lucia
I've played golf already 
made a late breakfast 
and have myself 
now, an iced toddy 
it's a quiet Mother's Day 
out there it seems 
weather for restaurants 
and conditioned air...

then I say to myself 
I think about mothers 
everywhere mostly everyday, 
yoga pants too for that matter...

the birds are quiet 
and the heat is building 
beyond my old glass pane 
southerlies swell and I seek a poem 
I'm not trying to find words 
because I know sometimes
they like to drift in 
and out any awareness 
we have of them
they know the poems 
almost before we do...

the central air is droning 
and the bob and weave 
of branches as sleeves 
catch my eye in fluttered deception 
lifting lilting May is reach growth 
new leaves, maple trees mostly near me..

I begin to notice sounds 
carry differently 
in the heat 
and humidity 
they soft careen 
caught for a bit  
releasing more whisper than 
the sharper concussions 
pang-ing the cold air Winter poetry
also when the window is closed...

EJR ©