My focus is not focus.
My ears hear the trees. I find
I am stopping starting stopping
my present task. I continue only to hear
cicadas singing their summer
songs and I stop, listen, wonder
what they say, can I sing along?
I try again; again I stop. You see,
the sun was angling through
the window in such a way
it fanned across my books upon
the shelf and the floor – the floor
dancing sunlight on the floor
it really was so beautiful I couldn’t help but stare.
I decide to read
and the sentence I read the sentence I read the sentence I read
(yeah, just like that) – the breezes
caress my eyelashes and I close
my eyes my sleepy eyes to fully become engulfed.
I decide to lie down. I hear
an orchestra outside
hammering hammers,
cicada symphonies, accents on
airplane engines overhead. Sparrows join in
and it all fades for a brief moment and begins again.
The rising wave of life it peaks
and tumbles over swooshing down and
up and roll and spin around and lull back and forth
swish and swoosh and up back down
and swing and back and forth and up
(just like that)
So the task? It’ll get done
I guess
the book
will be read will be read will be read
eventually perhaps or not.
but life, yeah that,
oh, it goes on.