by Carl Sandburg
Scrutinize the Scorpion constellation
and see where a hook of stars
ends with a lonely star.
Go to the grey sea horizon
and ask for a message
and listen and wait.
See whether the conundrums
of a heavy land fog
either sing or talk.
Let only a small cry come
in behalf of a clean sunrise:
the sun performs so often.
Speak to the branches of spring
and the surprise of blossoms:
they too hope for a good year.
Search the first winter snowstorm
for a symphonic arrangement:
it is always there.
Take an alphabet of gold or mud and spell
as you wish any words: kiss me, kill me,
love, hate, ice, thought, victory.
Read the numbers on your wrist watch
and ask: is being born, being loved,
being dead, nothing but numbers?
[See title of post.]
--
Also, I wonder...
When did I stop thinking in paragraphs
and start thinking in poems?
Is this some weird form of ADD?
