The Trouble With Listening

The Trouble With Listening

Thought, like picnic rain,
sneaks into the campground,
dousing the glowing fire.

Thought, always active,
knocks upon an open door,
to interrupt us.

Thought, sticky and fresh,
standing guard against attention,
emphatic against solitaire.

Thought, seizing us,
pausing concentration,
with whom has it conspired?

Thought, pairs and groups standing,
gathered 'round the open door,
making such a fuss.

Thought, swirling crazy,
never ending stream of thought,
takes me anywhere . . .


         or


Thoughts, light and fluffy,
ever present, and waiting
for us to follow . . .

Thoughts, like light balloons--
let's send them off, and in
them never wallow!