Stepping Stone

An ox-eyes gentle opening at the suns warmth
doors open to shadow hallways
avocado, rainforest, beige, pink
a kitchens stainless gleam
the loose fist of a tied rubbish bag
ranked DVDs, books bearing aspirations
splines lined or shiny
chairs showered with a golden fall of rice
sprinkling of beer, the constant shift
of sand-dunes with no marin grass
scattering of clothes idly waiting to be re-animated
in another place, half-built computers
waiting for their better halves
the dentists waiting room is hot and noisy
whispered urgencies and discontent
a snail shell going elsewhere
the walker balances on the water-shaken stone
his passage paused, trembling
push and the stone skitters backwards
he looks to a sunny upland
where skylarks cloud, swoop and sing
sun shafts through the overcast
shallow soil, a brick of Wittgenstein
to leave behind
tendrils to ponder sift entwine  en-rich
scorch-marks on withered ends
he shan't miss that
cries at midnight to the temporary moon
the bleak heart of orion
the ox-eyes fist re-asserts