Level and Plumb

  

When the leaves blow

and coffee spills, cup atilt,

slosh goggle floored, splayed 

legs out wide like a downed 

ballerina, stunningly embarrassed, 

pictures hang askew, traffic piles

up, coincidental clash meetings

arise, and all goes awry, topsy

spinning turvy, electrified.
 

But if you plant your feet firmly,

tilt your head just so, right the

angle (forget the level and the 

plumb), bend to slanting, twist 

around dead center, steady and

strong, new perspective threatens

comfort yet tickles a notion clear–

if you let the turning in–

that all you held confirmed,

earth bound solid, statically 

removed, churns, burns and grinds

a new plateau, status quo evenly

spread, awaiting dissipation and 

drip-lye transformation. 

Change.