from this week in 1997
(I was 52)
The
source of reflected light is insignificant
Any dim illumination is appreciated
Whether off the fog bank from a point on shore
or rebounded through clouds from the sun
matters not once the thought of destination is dismissed
Adrift however does not mean directionless
Preoccupation with waves keeps one afloat
I am not in the same place I would have been
had I not been paying attention
Nor am I in position I might have been
attending to some other
Never somewhere to get always someplace to be
Colors of inspiration reach me indirectly
then glance off and onto something else
My diminished vision of what is there
is all I have to distinguish what is not
Brightness is enhanced with a little imagination
That has always been my occupation
and I’ve done it to see where I am
before I glance off and onto something else
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