W. Doug Bolden

Then, like a bird's wing (white and starfilled) I saw my blurry eyes and, lacking movement, I understood juxtaposition Had fell like rain. Moisture pooled on my lips, called me Superstitious, the way I crossed two fingers In order to trick The devil away... The way I throw the salt first, Left all the sweepings to come later. The way that I looked home again. Am I nothing more than random actions? Am I nothing more than exist? Am I nothing more Than this line of poetry? And I ramble on and stare deep into That galaxy--fifth from the right, m-something-- In the middle of the day. Shaped like a pinprick On the day's lace, Invisible and cloaked in blue. And those cloudy birds, it is the Sky they drink with Their wings flapping after they are Miles away from me: a hundred heart beats After some Passing of time. Here is this moment, And there is that; And I breathed the airlessness Deep Into my soul. I pour on, I flap my wings And I just might be considered... This is falling and I am rain and this, Juxtaposed Just right, on a sunny day. We strip away. Like a rain drop, grey and falling, The stars are archetypal And in the wet, the dry and the open I stand outside. And I need.