I find that writing poems during meetings makes it easier to pay attention…
No time for reluctance.
Observe buds about to bloom,
new colors waiting to paint the world
from top to toe, eager
to join in the movement building as the song
of seasons reaches the toe-tapping moment
just before the dance,
the eruption of joy.
Five fruit trees line the walk from home
to the park where my dog has not yet learned
to return the frisbee that sat
on the highest shelf of the closet
all winter, while we leash-walked
in the fading light of fall, then
the moon’s coming out: winter.
All of them new-bloomed, white.
When did this happen?
How did I miss it?
Now I’m tapping my toe too and the dog
is running after the frisbee he won’t bring back,
celebrating his catch, his neck straining
to hold the disc higher, higher yet
as he prances round the lawn.
The birds chatter, spurring us on.
I imagine you, love-eyes,
across the dew-wet grass.
The tapping of my foot quickens pace,
seeing you there. A vision.
There was no decision to dance, and the dog
has joined me, dropped the disc
to explore a new curiosity.