We build mountains

Visions

We build mountains
from increments of time and motion:
timetables and places, placements,
placemats, play dates, the peripheries
and spaces where we keep the instruments
of living, sleeping, weaning, cleaning,
cluttered cadences and frequencies;
the sinusoidal blip of the commute, drip
drip of that annoying tap that’s never fixed,
forever fixed as a nostalgic milestone;
the friends we keep on promising to meet
and decades later still keep promising;
the turning moons and spinning constellations,
quantum clocks of choruses and choirs,
catechisms, cradles, graves, procrastinations,
precious rituals of likes and leftovers
all generously layered upon layer.

We build a mountain,
living in its shadow, even as the
other side is redolent with sunset.
Once, we hike up to the crest to see
the horizon before it eats the evening sky.

Sometimes

Songs of the Everyday

Sometimes all it needs
Is a walk through the snow
And a stroll up a hill
And a shuffle through the leaves
And a hush at the waterfall
And a rush to get in from the cold
To drink and to eat
And to drive through the dark
With the little ones asleep in the back
Back home.