Passing

the Earth makes its rounds and
I am hit by the first splash of
light for the day

a large truck carrying telephone poles rounds
the corner at the end of the block and
disappears between the trees who
ironically watch their brothers
being hauled off to slavery where they
will stand and wait for your call

one passing cloud surveys the land in
search of companionship only to see
a lake of relatives waiting to find heaven and
as much as the cloud tries to convince
his kin to join him
they lay silent and sink to the bottom

the Earth holds its children in small
quarries
loose and forgiving
she rolls them
around in
her hand like marbles waiting
to be shot to
the center to
tumble about her
belly to pass the time

she
will wait for the day when
Father Sun will swallow her whole