A misty fog descends,
clothes their limbs
with a wet, filmy haze.
One swipes his finger on a water glass
in the shape of a heart.
Laughing, dancing on the spongy earth
they don’t bother with the interruption
but I, having turned toward their play
grow fonder of the spectacle
than to writing.
The half-blank page
suffers from imbalance
like standing only on one leg.
With a fleeting, bitter breath
I reclaim my place and place the pen
at the fragmented thought
and set to fancily embroider, embellish it.
A cat’s meow and pounce
at a great invisible phantom
takes me, smiling, off the path again.
Incomplete and disillusioned
the lesson has no end.
(For more by Alice Shapiro and her book “Life Ascending/Descending” go to www.totalrecallpress.com or amazon.com)