I thought it was a poem about everything
something so close to music
held by every sense
is there anything more than the taste of summer watermelon
crisp soup sharp lemon on the tongue
the chirp of tree frogs at 4am
the swish of tire on damp roadway just after a spring storm
eyes taking in the plane of the treetops resting gently against the high fluff of clouds too also that plane seemingly floating along with a meandering sense of being
and the felt whisper of autumn on the skin
she said she wanted my pistachios
like a dream I was puzzled by the request
the ephemerous veil left hanging there
in the cupboard on the top shelf they’re nestled in between 32 oz of natural peanut butter chunky and a bag of cashew halves
surely she would want though something more I don’t know-
the dark chocolate tucked in behind the bag of King Arthur bread flour-
I don’t know-
something more important impactful it is said though that they can be good for you
the body requesting the nutrients they contain
is the message then in that the value of this mundane
the richness of this simplicity
we watched she and I there in this dream
the man take the stage to perform his bit
a speech a presentation a motivation to engage to be to take up one’s cross
that’s how I imagine the remembering of it
when in fact it was with a sense of desire or compelling draw that we both turned to see what the crowds were applauding
okay now so here we are
where were we
I remember too not feeling fully there
sure it was a dream and I was surely holding in this subconscious space a portion of myself protected from the message arriving from this underground
but still
it wasn’t about applause or pistachios or desire or nutrition
hook it out of that the long draw of all of that
one hand taking up the pencil
one eye absorbing the vista
I can’t say where it finally began to soften
the edges taking on lose shape the smudge of clean line blurred to the touch of a fingertip against charcoal
I can only say that the linger left as I turned to walk
was that it was
all of these and every other something you could yourself think to add to the lines scribed across this page until it scrolls into another then another then more than the cloud says it can hold could we put that much into this world if we really tried
I would like to try
tip over the canister of stored capacity
see how much the world can contain of this tiny human lifeline
but there I have gone on too long
but there I have put down more than intended
but there
in truth
it was
only and always mostly
it was
a poem about everything