Poem 20150412b

these words come unbidden
slip from fingers without pause
without time to measure
–measure twice, cut once they say–
but the saw of words cuts
again
and again
and yet again

there is no time to clap your hands
and pray
after the ablution
just toss the money in
the box
and hope the
kami
is patient
and kind
and forgiving of your cheapness
maybe she sees the soles worn down
on shoes you refuse to
replace
maybe she knows how you
wait
each day for 11:11
to come around
to make a wish
for free

if only your doubt would break upon
the rocks
like waves
huge and frightening
a wall of water
reduced to spray and foam
and a scattering of birds.