My Big Bones

Time is passing very slowly this morning while I wait for the banks to open.
A low gray cloud daubs the island north to south and muffles the trucks.
The first cool breeze since summer suddenly began squeezes in through the open
      window.
An old lover with her changed body is returned and failed to notice how my spirit is
      changed and straight as a hexagram.

This sadness like a black kid throwing a sharp rock at someone he doesn't know,
A vigorous breeze rummaging the tops of trees with its cool passion before the storm,
Sailors in a dream gripping ropes and swinging in the maelstrom fits,
And I would like to remove it like tight clothing.

The river calls the drunks who have truly dropped dead to sprawl at her side
While nearby a large Spanish family with its mother's pretty daughters picnics on
      Saturday
And the stray that lives on water rats sneaks by hugging the railroad tracks.
I mention these not as contrasts. The same river eventually seduces us all.

To continue, because the banks open in fifteen minutes.
Like a four year old watching a steam roller pave a new suburban street
Or the involuntary voyeur who cannot tell if he's her rapist or her lover,
My big bones.