Toward Place
Rob Spiegel
One morning, almost always a turn
toward place.
A bird, two birds, a chorus.
Monday wants me here and I am
willing.
A cup of coffee, a vitamin, an aspirin.
I am not yet swept away by
everything.
The day yet is a gentle, intelligent dog.
For an hour or two I will put one
word in front of the next,
speaking almost in time.
Rise slowly the armies of chaos –
I know your lies and will not surrender.