Poem by Catherine Blauvelt 

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NOTHING TO DO. ENDLESS SCATTERS BY SIGHT

 
The Bulbs Already In The Ground Go On
By Day. A tune from memory: busy
signal behind your leave; I saw the sound.
Green tops the soon coming over time. 
The grey pencil without an eraser I
kept from the hotel room. The snow yet on
the bough, nor sing. Open gate, you find me
a shadow to stand in. Could I be light’s
prick? I’m out of it before I stop. Light
of day at every turn; unhurried in
this air. I buy a white tile for two
bucks: a sunblock, a cloud from bough to air.
A change to be complete. The unsure
earth pulls a sugar cube from its mouth. 

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