chimes

old record covers
channel
our past.

how else to explain them,
lined dimly in their cardboard box
appearing from nothing,
from no-sign, last week,
under the dust and greased old tupperware
of this town?

"i must have loved you in another life"....

a lost life of old linen and sun in the morning,
hanging laundry on a line
looking sidelong into
a rocky mountain breeze.

it doesn't pay to be so worked up, so knotted,
so twined around interior cords.
the sound of wind coming up the slope is enough to stop the birds
from twittering.
(i let it all go like scattered seeds for birds).

far-off wind chimes, close clock ticking,
branches changing their shade tracery on the wall outside my studio,
these things are obvious, but
must be carefully noted.

i think they are trying to tell me something.