Early in the morning,
right before the break of day,
standing at the transom
one eye turned to either way,
soaking in the silence
of the crisp December air,
trying to remember
what he did to get back there.
How does it go?
Once you pay it no attention
it just slips away
and you don’t even know.
Sometimes he’ll remember
there was sour with the sweet,
between months of famine
having just enough to eat,
learning from the hunger
what it really means to need,
finding an abundance
is not ever guaranteed.
How does it go?
When a little taste will get you
what you gonna do
if you can’t get no more?
Early in the morning,
right before the rooster crows,
watching that first sunlight
break the cold horizon’s nose,
soaking in the silence
as the ice begins to melt,
trying to remember
where he was when the hand was dealt.
How does it go?
Once you head in a direction
every other way
becomes a told you so.
12 JAN 2015
