It Is How I Saw It

as if on cue

a burgeoning petal 

fell

coming to rest

on the pavement
in front of me,

i couldn’t be sure

if it was

some kind of clue

pointing the eyes

toward

the hour’s

hidden verse,

toward a poetry

known to reveal

insignificant things –

tiny incidents

whose presence

lay hidden

somewhere between

heaven and earth,

where a silence

other than my own

prevails

and then 

a shift 

in prosody

as the tiny petal

is excitedly swept up

by an unsuspected

gust of wind

that heaves it

without turn

or curve

down the street –

immediately

the petal

and its beautiful form

becomes

but a vanishing

point,

circling

off in the distance,

it was all i

could distinguish –

these eyes

with their tentative

enthusiasm

could not

catch up with it –

its disappearance

generating

an impression

of an ending

until

the daybreak

of yet another hour

shifts toward

that alluring apogee

of light

becoming

all one needs

at that point 

in time

as one’s attention

resonates

with something

genuinely sensed

inside,

something

particular

but hard to name

like a poetry

that pries open

small windows

of unacknowledged 

thought,

and whose voice

stirs one’s curiosity,

registering

its existence

by the

conclusions

the mind,

that moment ago,

laid hands on.