At times

                                At times

         

At times..at certain times,
I'm not hungry but I eagerly await the cooker whistle to let out that steam and hiss...
You know, 
it helps to closely listen,
Listen...when your mind is sneaking out of your head,
And the whistle can let your ears sting
But pull back,
that chunk of your meandering mind.

At times...certain times again
I watch my neighbor fix the light,
And I secretly hope, 
That he stays on the ladder for a while...
Why...for it brings back memories of a lover,
who once climbed down a ladder in defeat
And coyly suggested
that the candle flame holds more romance than the roses,
And maybe we should let it flicker all night.  

And then again...at times,
I dip my head in a bucket of water.
And in my mind I see myself,
sandwiched amidst the blues of all shades
wrapped up in a single wave...
I'm quite sure I smile,
Until I lose my breath and pull back
holding on to the round edges of my bucket,
And stare down at the tiles... 

But rarely do I write down a poem
To confess that there are such times,
And to convince myself that it's okay to collect them
And jot them down as a few lines,
For as incoherent and absurd they do seem
On a piece of paper,
it all settles and breathes fine...