Waiting room

Everything is strange
Keep calm
This is just the end of things
Remember the smell of stale bread
Toasted until almost burnt
This is our body
An extemporary sacrament
Subluminary in substantiation
Transient, but satisfactory
As another sip of tea
Out the window
Above the swamp
There is a blue sky fat with buttered scones
Around your heels
Stagnant water
And the drone of dragonfly wings
Call life extinct
A breath, a residue
Your woodsmoke heart
Maybe earthquakes make alarms
The whistles of trains hauling rumbling cattle cars
Warn sharply of collision
Here the benches are hard
There is gentle laughter
As dogs sing
Have some jam and cream
Sweet, isn’t it?