Monday, May 28, 2018

Somewhere in the stretches of time,
some wisp of the whole
seems to have scripted me into this night of
poets reading, conjunto accordions,
ice house beer at picnic tables.
I consider the writer of this play,
wonder at my actor’s role.
In the time it takes lightning
to strike and vanish,
I glimpse this final scene,
ponder denouement, how it ends.