distracted as the side walk
who slopes down to puddle rain
contemplation disturbed
by a thousand pinches of refrain
distracted as the button
given much stress
not asked to do more than its occupation
but threaded with cords of unrest.
distracted as the pages
flipped through by one fervently searching
no answer to be found unless taken
slowly
to hear the sound of each finger turning.
distracted, but not dismissed
not present, but tallied any how.
the presence of form does not excuse the lack of response when called,
the lack of a verbal, "Here."
no. the pane rattles too eloquently to be ignored.
it also requires my presence
as round gems form on slippery slope--
who else will trace their path?
I am needed to take notice
to watch the rain as others adhere to the lesson--
less than wanting of my distraction
that chills essence as we rub our palms,
gray howling noise in the distance becomes
my anthem.
not very far are those outside.
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