the bark of every tree stares back at me
their distant view is no less valuable
I expect there to be dust
on the windows of the bus I look out through
but I don’t spend my detail time on them
this crazy movie streams by
no matter which bus-window I view through
this could all be a mind fade
if I had self self-conscious attention
on what is happening
as if the ride through life has these moments
I check to feel the warmth from clothing worn
gravity and movement still converse through me
there are no bright spots so far today
the vigil is kept inside
but not as guarded privacy
just the doom
of moving through time and space
I find places in me that are in prayer
I don’t know why they are not distracted
I am on my way to another short-term memory
that will soon be forgotten in the stream of things
I keep the faith engaged
but nothing external is a contributor
there is a campfire of being in me
I don’t know of its source
sometimes I can look in a mirror and see it
through my eyes
but I don’t know where we are, where that is so
I stopped inwardly asking, are we there yet?
the bus windows have become my eyes
my clothes continue to applaud
the prayer solemnly continues
the campfires is in sight
I close my eyes
as the world comes out of me . . .
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