Mondays are One

It’s endings that got turned around in my hands.

Today’s Monday. Mondays are one.

Windows were open, outside hot winds,

But for two old ladies.

 

I sat in a cool room.

Crisp air was biting this wall—

A wide sign, not a symbol—

From foreign lands across the Pacific Ocean.

 

They were ugly in there.

Grimacing, while drinking Coca Cola,

And their ugliness was part, no,

Of being this close to here.

 

We ended on dark nights all Mondays.

I switch off the loud radio in the car on the highway.

A hand waved from the passing car

And I watched it pass by.

 

A walk did my feet lead–

A walk took my feet places.

I had no future thoughts.

He seemed a mystery that could not be reached

The length of feet could not be reached.

 

No steps has he now, no touch;

He neither feels nor hears;

Following times in it’s mysterious passing,

With milestones, and placemarks, and ends.

Now close the doors

Now close the doors and silence all the voices.

If the voices must, let them silently whisper;

No cricket is chirping now, and if there is,

Be it my gain.

 

It will be a long time until daylight comes.

It will be a long time before the voices speak again.

So close the doors and listen no more to the crickets.

But hear the loud chirping go on.