A Type of Flight

            On Friday the cut on my thumb was officially downgraded from painful to sensitive during guitar practice. It’s definitely starting to heal over and it’s interesting how suddenly the change seemed to come.

            I finished writing another ghazal, this one exploring a more upbeat mood. It’s called “This Is a Manner of Flight”:

Learning to surf on the updraft of a sigh

through tunnels to lights and sometimes the sky.

I’m just curious about how it all ends

and what sweet crash-ups I might be involved in.

I manoeuvre my oeuvre over and around the bumps

every so often with gambolling jumps.

Voices delight me from every tongue

with a sound of sunshine worth waiting on.

Even the wooden floor is charming although it’s dirty

because the groove that I’m in is outside of the groove but groovy.

I dance a no touching cha cha with hope

because there are still stirring things to write about.

I have learned to lean on the fact that I am still learning

and enjoy a lean cut of daily singing.

Arrival doesn’t thrill like the highway

just like getting old is so much better than dying.

This feeling of relaxation may live in

the very heart of my lack of ambition.

It’s a type of flight to avoid landing

on things that deep-freeze understanding.

            I started working on a free fall derived poem called “May Basket”, about growing up in New Brunswick.