Having then
understanding that 
I know 
nearly nothing 
I think 
that I’ll
just sit
here wondering 
and wandering 
and waiting 
for thoughts 
to come 
yes that 
is precisely 
what I 
will do 

To think
one’s thoughts 
and to
hear none 
of many 
is time 
well spent 
with one’s 
own soul 

This same sun
low in west
catches the edges 
of blue threads
in my worn
jeans rubbed raw
where my hands 
in anxiousness waited 
for an answer 
to almost every 
question I’ve ever 
had to ask 

Streaks of light 
on bright white 
break through gauzy
brown sheers hanging 
no tarnishing tawny 
just shadows where
flannel rises high 
and river beds
drop off edges 
and disappear down 
downstream and downward 
flowing into the 
shallows of shoes
half tucked under

My ears hear
what my eyes 
have been missing 
long lost melodies 
that meant much 
a quiet soundtrack 
to our silence 
the filling in 
between the layers 
lines and cracks 
making a pavement