Today was room enough
to move and eat too many toffees,
waiting for the rush that never came
but instead pleasantly surprised
by a warmth creeping over me
and behind me pushing me into
a sunny afternoon, like a busker’s spring.

I think I’d be lost on Second Avenue
if let myself see all the things he wrote:
fire-eaters, acres of glass, marshmallows,
lips, and funeral homes, as well as things
I see: flags, men rushing redundantly, birds,
hands, and church spires on Second Street.

How we look is not exactly soul or sorrow
but tired with a bit of curiosity built in.
There is a smile echoed in words pressed
together like wet leaves, never to part.
I reluctantly greet spring, as maybe I am
allowed to bloom a little. If I can shimmy,
maybe the rest of me will come apart too.

In between breaths –
that’s how fast it happens –
a quiet announcement, an omen
a sniffle leading to an avalanche
like some damn butterfly
lost halfway across the world

graffiti making light of death
of battling demons manufactured
by boredom and plastics

a 40-year-old song resurrected
just as contentment was settling in
with no regrets and less of the blues

In between a thought and a hard place
where we are drawn like the 99
waiting for the one, waiting for a reveal
or maybe a return to wonder we knew
briefly before concrete covered the garden
and like the idiots we are, happy for grace

I watched the penguins and giraffes
and wondered if they had any sense
of place or anticipation.
I often feel I am awaiting something.
There was no one around- it felt like
I had stepped into a H. G. Wells novel
where all the people were gone
except the elderly ticket taker at the gate
who was not sure of the day
but smiled and wished me well.
I smelled Kools and saw the full ashtray
outside the gift shop but the only noise
came from a pair of ravens nearby.
The lynx was nonplussed.
There were trucks running somewhere
and fresh lumber in a pile near the emus.
I walked for what seemed like hours
but it was half the time I thought
when I checked. I was hungry so I ate
a sandwich by the lake. The swans were
somewhere warmer. The bison grunted into
the mud and grass. I was… oddly content.
A little stretch of road, some woods,
the smell of the first spring bulbs opening,
and I was ok with being grey and undefined.