there is this wonder about <br />what is really happening and <br /> <br />what is really said, as the words <br />keep pouring like rain in a summer's <br /> <br />day, like sunshine amidst the <br />darkness of the room with a <br /> <br />roof leaking, like smoke going to <br />the sky, like fire from the heart, <br /> <br />like chimney, soothed by soot, <br />like lights turned on at dawn <br /> <br />like steps sounding its nearness <br />to the door, like leaves that fall toward <br /> <br />the south, like birds resting upon a <br />tree after a long journey <br /> <br />things are scattered, and there is no <br />stopping, the winds move in different <br /> <br />directions, like thoughts, unstoppable <br />by our grammatical restraints, <br /> <br />litters, finally collect themselves like <br />crabs inside a pail of full of water.<br /><br />RIC S. BASTASA<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/wondering-92/
