Plays Out

When snow falls the nous slows down
thoughts are covered up and their shapes
are reduced to bumps and humps hiding
meaning like children playing in the drapes.

Beans may be brown and black and white
yellow can be sweet and mottled mellow.
How many are there or should there be?
As many as dreamers lost at sea.

The old slapstick between face and hand
plays out on an antique baby grand.
The accidental gap between women and men
is filled with pieces of both of them.

Missing poetry is seached for by posses
of men on horseback scaring all the birds
as they ride through field and forest calling
out names of animals and their favorite words.

When snow melts trickles become torrents
great cities are washed down shallow hillsides
whatever you believed last fall has changed
every person a child every spring.

The old slapstick between face and hand
plays out on an antique baby grand.
The accidental gap between women and men
is filled with pieces of both of them.

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About mrsorenson

all over the place
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