I MADE IT ’TIL SUNDAY 

Heaven rests on Sunday, my balcony is where.

 Especially when there’s salty fall sun and Encinitas air.

If this were my last day I really wouldn’t care.

 

Clouds/No clouds?

 

Reading the papers every other word.

No need to gird

or prepare for Monday.

 

Sound/No sound?

 

The low hum of cars first then surfers laughing in the waves. 

Overhead a plane competing with the sound of weightless butterfly wings I gaze.

Not to be outdone by palms’ conspiratorial whispers to bees buzzing in the haze.

 

Dream/No Dream?

 

 

Head bobbing, slipping between sleepy and alert states of attention.

Blue glass bob swinging to the blue earth’s rotation.

Red glass cutting a blood red nation.

 

Float/ No Float?

 

The birds are singing so sweetly.

What do they know?

Take the lazy boat to Sunday you don’t even have to row.