the world hasn’t time to wait,
for the seeds to grow,
for the cows to eat the grass;
for the moon to wax and wane,
and for the water to flow,
the time it takes to ride a thought,
to know which way to go,
the upheavals and the angles,
the voice that says: go!
Advice is a cool cup of water
before a glass is found to fill it;
he once told me to ride a rainbow,
the one hanging in the storefront,
ignorant light pouring round
without the mirroring rain drops
children point at that holy grail,
colors to imitate whatever color is
and buying it with mother’s money.
still, I remain here, still as bones
for that first light to meet the water,
after dark clouds,
after autumn storm,
a squirrel prepares for winter,
clouds making lazy beds in sky,
grass grazing golden dew drops,
to fill with memory of what’s passed,
of what’s fallen to the ground,
heavy as rainbows made of glass,
beckoning in storefronts,
Soul in the machine 
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