In 40 minutes, the process server my husband hired will be here.
(I guess that line can stand alone today and maybe I tell the rest of the story. always story. always words.)
A nearly perfect Haiku.
It could be written again to conform to the accepted structure.
In 40 minutes,
my husbands process server
will be here. It starts.
I could write this over an over again. Will it get any more perfect? Will the pitch of these notes ever be more clear?
How do you make an ending a poem?
What is the music of this coda that is prelude too?
Where is lyric, and piano amidst the staccato, vibrato, is this the crescendo, or do I need to study theory and law to hear in a new way?
These sounds are ancient. I more listen to the earth-drum. Like any other delivery, of song, of child, of work, this music has its own intelligence, I am the vessel. I am the vessel, I am the drum, I am the earth. I am ancient and knowing and holding and wise, half and whole notes.
I am whole, I am whole.
I am ending a the first movement of my beautiful life – one that was perfect and insufficient. Should I be listening to Mozart now?
30 minutes now.
Should I listen to Mozart?
Three movements; I’m whole.
A knock. He’s early.