Tom Clausen

 
 
                                           

 
                                                       full of rain
                                                       the river races along
                                                       past everything here--
                                                       I can't shake this sense
                                                       I'm living on borrowed time


        
                                                       watching
                                                       the smooth flow of water
                                                       over stones . .
                                                       how few of my thoughts
                                                       are new



                                                       beyond this life
                                                       that one old friend
                                                       I bump into over and over
                                                       promising that we'll get together
                                                       again, someday



                                                       with one hand
                                                       holding open the cathedral door,
                                                       in the other outstretched
                                                       his cap open
                                                       to the sky


                                                       
                                                       the tentative start up
                                                       of talk . . .
                                                                      to a new friend?
                                                        beginning the old doubt
                                                        of just who I am, again?



                                                       every few bounces
                                                       the robin pauses on the lawn
                                                       to look and listen,
                                                       as if that were all
                                                       there was to do

 

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