The Rut in the Groove

13th September 2017 | POETRY

In transit,
head-at-heel from long, folding days,
a journey, quiet in its bequest and
lingering just below the liminal point,
i watch you from afar,
the window, translucent from showers and
the smaller, reverse reflecting pool,
allows an unlimited panorama of

a muddy visual of constant commentary,
two steps behind, hand above shoulder,
deft on the arches,
the half-step, the half-reach,
the familial hagiography ,
the rut in the groove, the brush of the lint,
the eternal skip of
nil by mouth and all by ear until

two heads, chatting at once,
a divided soul of babbling blues,
double sided and exhausted by
marked positions,
ties tired names to tired places,
ties strings to wood and locks
to ivory keys,
ties acoustic sounds to acoustic faces

and in transit,
the circle line, the motherland,
catching snippets of another world
where alternate me resides in stringed
ecstacy, unhurried,
thoughts that hammer and clamber inside,
curling cat-like on the strings and
bouncing gently to safety.