everything is alive
the pigeons in the sky
they flit over the water
over the stone lions
some gather around me
waiting for crumbs
for crumbs
she hums, she waves
he sweeps,
he sweeps,
I gaze
into space
I watch them
I watch the people pass by
an old lady takes a seat beside me
an young man gets up to leave
the busker
sings a sad drawn-out song
and then another, so she prolongs
and then another, so she prolongs
a silent conversation
with herself, and everyone she had ever known
there alone, with pigeons in the sky
with herself, and everyone she had ever known
there alone, with pigeons in the sky
with the stone lions
everything is alive
where do we derive
our inspiration
if not through watching
simply watching the world
observing encounters
they gradually unfurl
and give way to clarity,
a thousand lives play out,
inside a cloud of profanity
kind words, and vanity
the world is a theatre,
////sweet banality
a thousand lives play out,
inside a cloud of profanity
kind words, and vanity
the world is a theatre,
////sweet banality
there is beauty, difference, there is life
after watching a blip of it
after watching a blip of it
I went to watch paterson
watch the world
through the windows of his bus
in that empty theatre
I watched him watch life
the small details
to find peace and beauty in them,
every day is filled with beautiful surprises
I watched him watch life
the small details
to find peace and beauty in them,
every day is filled with beautiful surprises
fiction satirizes
fact, and everything is alive
the pigeons in the sky
the poems we write
the things we see
places, people, and objects,
the things that render us free
the imagination, faith, hope
a thousand ways of seeing
everything is alive
