A Day in Moments
The winds pause though never for long
an inner buddha holds up a cell phone
few in its huge crowd notice, only one sees, smiles
A small boy playing little league outfielder
his mind elsewhere, fly balls dropping infield
rarely make it out this far, he’s watching birds
above the outfield or in his mind, erratic, entertaining
He keeps tossing his glove up over his head and catching it
Also, flashes of recent conversations, readings, all unfinished
a word, a phrase, an impression, a sketch
a sliver of moon persisting well after daybreak
“Can’t we all just get along?” (Obviously not)
Is anything ever finished? And how do these appearances
go together, relate except as concurrently re-minded?
The buddha declines to answer since he has already
many times. Besides, he’s busy checking his messages.
The Dog Star 
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