Lacunal Contents

Today is not the day, and tomorrow
the landscape will not be ready
And the next day and the day after that, rare fruit.
Eventually, you stop wearing your vest.
The lighthouse lights on only odd
days of the week.

Something drops, like a pebble
behind every good gesture
and at the end of the evening
all good gestures drop
without the proper postage
like the morning paper
unto a yard
of a family who has been on vacation
for months and will never return.

And at the end of the evening
others drop like clothes

distracted by warmer places, and stopping
to rub the fur of dandelions from their eyes
drop the questions of their wives into a bird's throat.

A cloud drops gently over the landscape of the day.

This is just one occurrence in the processions of mysteries.