Drive my car to the end of the street and stop

Under a blue sky waiting to turn left,

Little pregnant minutes fall all around

Busy people whiz by headed west 

And into the future,  their car-bubbles carry them along

It is a rare succulent occurrance, that we ever even dare to pause

Cotton falls and counts the seconds


O’ Breeze


(Gentle the way you caress the trees)

Slowly around me in a summer turn

And then I turn, onward headed west

And catch the track to time