Slipping these few moments

Blue Wind Guitar

I

We enter this room where a blue guitar stands
alone in a corner, light streaming through the pane
flows over the sill, spills onto the floor, what more
does one need than this blue guitar alone in a corner,
a room entered with light, two of us flowing, what
worse than being this streaming through the pane,
alone on a sill, spilled onto a floor, no need to enter
light in a room or stand a flow of blue corner, one
guitar where pane spills the sill, moreover, what need
we enter by two to stand alone as rooms of blue light?



II

Wind sits my garden chair, rests her wandered feet having
run the globe before breakfast, laughed horizons flat,
toyed with cap and scarf, taken the brush from your hair,
run fingers through the dry red leaves, left prints worried
on the watertop. Chair rocks gently as she puts feet up
and onto the small tree stump left downcut from her last
visit when she brought first rains to her last fires, prattled
windows through the long dark ruckus, left night in tatters,
strewn in morning cords of sunsplit branches, cowered coyotes
nowhere to be seen. And so she rocks, to and fro, no hurry
to her clocking, gentle gears slipping these few moments
with her talking to herself and my overhearing she will allow
until we’ve both had enough and impendingness summons
us to do what we do next, what always needs doing, this sitting,
this marking of it, this foot-scattered respite in a windlorn garden
when we make time for one another to sit well this brief visit.

Joseph Gallo
December 24, 2008