early evening

still can't get
a really nice spring
day only one flower red
(as these irie eyes)
beneath the huge maple
tree out in the back
looking at the shadows
on the grass and listening
to the wind through
the corners of already
open windows
brings on a memory flashback
twenty years pass
as if it were only minutes ago
where does all the time go
when it's here with him
it passes slow
he closes his eyes
and time speeds by
with no regard for how fast
he might be able to write
and catch up...

it's got to be getting
close to when
the clock tower bell will
strike once
his own bell in the corner
privately sounds
a call to thought
as random as can be
will be pulled into the middle
of the street if need be...