I set my eyes on the sound horizon,
for the foreground flees too fast
to focus on before it’s past.
My clear vision thrives on, soars on, flies on
the path winding up and beyond
these troubles, puddles and ponds
towards the unblinking, plan-blinding ocean.
There thoughts sail far from the harsh wail
of the quick-set worry and the false-step hurry
of these daily daunting travails.
Sharp obstacles, shrill pain whistles
dart up and strut their smart urgency,
proclaiming immediacy and plea
with emergency siren voices
for short-sighted choices to remedy
their burning-bright blights, their pyre in
library plight.
I can’t focus on their flutter or
contain their capricious clutter,
to flow with their fuzzy shows
just sits me down quick or hits me with motion sickness
and I have no time to slow or stop
much less cheap tricks or any quick fix
and I don’t mind smashing change
as long as I can find (or sense) a view, no matter if newly strange
of the crashing, slapdash yet steadfast
Way of the waves in the distance.
