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Thursday, November 29, 2018

The Fullness of Each Day

The Fullness of Each Day

Through trees
and on roads
up and down the hills
I walk in a dream
where I am always alone
There is no low whistle
of the wind in pines
no deer runs ahead
no stare of coyotes
at a distance
Once appeared
a lake I did not enter
a name I thought
from years behind me
Strangers stay away now
as I seem a wave to them
and they to me
Empty of bird song
and chirp of chipmunk
I go on through
but to where
I arrive at a day
when my eyes open
upon an everyday
also vacant until
I turn on the radio
that fills the room
with voices and problems
of the world
Hearing a phrase
I'll yell for no one to hear
my approbation or scorn
which seems to be
my acknowledgment of life
wakefulness away from sleep
I can not go to that forest
to that lake or road
even if they were just outside
waiting for my feet
without the cage I use
to tame this unsteady animal
So now I know
why I moved hundreds of miles
away from the place I dream
where I might drink away
my sorrows 
Here I am sad
engulfed in memory
at which I only yell
to push it aside
instead of drown it
As I rake the nails
of all my fingers
hearing violins
and staring at snow
though gauze curtains
each day becomes new
away from the old
where something must be done
to make my life
my life
the one I have
unencumbered by a past
where I tried to please
even a chipmunk
that I'd beg to like just me
when I wasn't sure
if the family of my birth

Barry G. Wick

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