|May 2005 / Volume Six / Issue Three|
|An Interlude in Wyalusing
The window of the coffee shop creaks
and speaks to me.
It knows the stories of this town,
And as I walk down these very short
streets...the buildings seem old
and that oldness oozes out onto
the sidewalks and creates a calm haze,
an almost invisible protective layer,
I wonder if I could live here
and despite all rational consideration
I know that the answer is yes (because)
I want something more simple
More simple than a city
where days seem to pass like short breaths
both unnoticeably rushed
I want something more simple than life
and as I relight my pipe,
I walk past the lonesome barber who is waiting
for someone's hair to grow and I am
tempted to go in and listen
to his stories about this town.
I am sure he has many.
I am sure I will not be one of them.
|RETURN to May 2005|