With A Book

Book-couched

or resting elbowed at table;

Old wounds ebb, bones warm

and hunger is satiate

My soul soaks -

unconcerned with duty or weather

This comportment hides reflections

of the old and afflicted,

as words ease and ooze

with deeper living breath

My fingers smooth the page

and my pulse disappears

while answers to the ponderings

of a mind unoccupied

resolve all mysteries.

Lithesome stupors embrace me

lightly awake,

ignoring the driven, dandelion wind

A long case tick

a pause after dinner

a sunset

a gasp of first-mouthed beer

the long exhale of a smoker’s first draw

a bleating meadow’s day

Where the stranger can linger

and sift for treasure and delight

beach-coming the museum

of imagination