A LEAF MOVING

You’re sitting in a bus station

or a smoky diner or a stolen car.

You’re lying among the ginger mint,

mistflowers and mothers-of-thousands.

You’re not quite sure of how you got there,

or why you’re there, of what’s expected of you.

There’s a high wind badgering the pines,or you believe that’s what you’re hearing;

it’s very dark, you can’t be certain.

You’re waiting for the next breath to come along.

You’re sitting, and now you’re thinking,

a minor god on its porcelain throne,

a magistrate in a court of fools,

the one-eyed judge in a beauty contest.

You keep blinking, the past a mysterious fruit.

You’re dwelling upon some sour note,

a former heightened emotion,

an odd ex-girlfriend.

You’re chewing on the leather of regret,

the mistakes made, the chances not taken.

You’re waiting in a room, somewhere,

pre-occupied with studying your thumbs,

fantasizing about both the future and past,

the temple bells of your mind ringing,

the thing called heart like a blade to your chest.

You notice, perhaps, a leaf moving,the distance fading away, coming closer,

a cloud formation that resembles itself.

You see, as if for the first time,

a lettuce spray or the veins in your wrist.

Idle thoughts bobble and simmer,

the moon and Jupiter in conjunction,

Rigel a teardrop, the Hyades and Andromeda

plotting against you, relaying your early demise,

that of which the stars had long ago written.

EARTHBORNE ONLINE POETRY MAGAZINE