Hungry

Looking forward to the weekend of the soul
This time and place of ease
Where the off duty sign hangs swinging on the the garden gate

Where time ceases to matter in the few places it still exists
Like spring, or budding or first frost
Anchored into the spiral of time
Yet flexible in it’s specificity
Here but an unpinnable now

Animal time
Soul time
Lost in the space between
The individual and society
Focus is peace found in
Unfocusing

The clouds roll and the hands move
Each to rhythms beholden to no one
But themselves
Their patterns and workings create
The weather and the structure of what is to come

The solitude is essential
The safety of space

The crowded loud echoing
Hustle bustle never ending chaos
Of humanity bouncing painfully off itself
Leaves me hungry