SET PIECE
The pinks of dawn on hiking trail caught us staring –
dead ahead was earth’s chipped and greening self-portrait,
the frame brightening, simplifying as we walked,
emptying the air of its haunts and auguries.
There was only our small talk to mark the way –
that and a redbird rehearsing her notes
inside the wide drum of morning.
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OK, maybe I exaggerate the drama besetting this
everyday tick-tock set piece set enormously in clay.
Maybe Silent Master took a moment’s rest,
gave us the run of the joint, left bread and wine
to play startled hosts in case we stumbled onto them.
After that, I headed home, reheated the coffee,
wondered if I got any of this right.
© copyright 2024 Ray Waddle