Sometimes wisdom

Sometimes wisdom

Stops by,

Never does it linger.

Pausing for a while

Slipping in and out

Twisting around in the space

Between one thought and the next

Loose limbed and

Restlessly spirited,

As the sages say

When they stop long enough

To think.

As much as the moon is

Ever blue

Even when it shines so bright

As to burn through clouds

That might obscure its presence

And I think

Perhaps there should be words

Available to me

To do this picture justice.

It might be at such a time

I look back on what I have written

In a rush of fevered fingering,

The keyboard a-blister

Of misspelling

And think that I might have

Captured something meaningful.

The thought remains

In mind only

As the truth of its beauty

Lies in the free-flow

Before the reductionism

Of self-consciousness

Brings forth the

Plain speaking bobby

Snipping scissors with all the abandon

Of a demon barber.

A plague on them

Shaving with a cutthroat

Close to the bone

Finely honed

Until the blood-letting

Drains the ink dry

Perhaps the truth

Of this reunion

With immediacy

Lies in the skill it takes

To leave well alone.