A poem does the work of moving the mind
from still to concealed.
Read a hundred words off an unfinished
page and move it along.
Wisdom moves from answer to question
like symptoms in the belly.
We live in the movies the camera ever
dictating the view.
Good graces whether godly or otherwise
like clouds move on.
Tricky powers in the vindictive universe
turn their heads.
We are not birds but we see in them some
of our love of moving.
The only events that matter to a scene are
moments of movement.
A poem that’s unlike the previous piece
hides its deviousness.
If you have to ask you haven’t even
moved a muscle.