Freeverse No. 1

Anymore, I don't write much poetry, or whatever label you'd like to attach to such a liberal use of the word. But I think it's good for people to get out those things which seem too abstract for simple prose; the things which we are still working out in the dim recesses. It also provides a memory bank for those moments which are perhaps not important of themselves, but are a marker for a time and a place that we may forget after a time. It's good to remember.

3/16/01

A life just passed before my eyes,
And another, then another, and
An unlimited number of them;
All driving to some point, all
Having a fibrous network of other lives
Intertwined with theirs,
All believing that indeed,
The world does surround--
No, that the world does spin
In a neat circle around them.

I sit here, inconspicuous
On a balcony overseeing them all,
Knowing that the world does
Not revolve around me, nor
The man cleaning the grime
From the parking garage floor,
Nor the woman cleaning
Invisible dust from the windows
Of the office building across the street.

She is in her world, in a still
And silent boardroom, surrounded
By her thoughts, busy in her work.
There is no thread between us,
Only panes of glass now, and
The static of a city beyond them.
Back indoors, the static seeps in,
But perhaps she cannot hear
Over the static of her own thoughts
The hum of living; silent and deafening.