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.
