All of the Things That Escape Me

The cerulean blue behind the clouds over a city baking in an August sun. A gecko on the window screen just as the sun changes night to morning. The chance to cobble a phrase that might answer a question that has been waiting for you since you were born. The passing woman whose eyes lock yours in a moment of eternal recognition before slipping into oblivion. The red shift. The owl outside the window. The hummingbird waiting for you by the empty feeder. The open space that might be filled with a drive across town to the reading by the poet you fear. The possibility waiting in this simple left hand turn at the corner of this street and this green light that might signal the beginning of your leaving your rigid habit that has become so familiar you think it is all that there is.