From Where It Comes

 

Sometimes it arrives like a freight train roaring, steel

wheels clacking over the rails.

Sometimes it’s as silent as a butterfly winging through

morning air—never seen, never heard, but it’s there.

Sometimes it awakens with a purpose; sometimes

it rises empty with but a yawn.

Sometimes could be anytime where the clock has no

numbers, no hands, no schedules or demands.

And sometimes, early or late, one wonders from where

or when it comes?

Was it you chosen or was it I? And when the poem came

to me I knew it was I who was. Sometimes I wonder why?

                         -30-

Chris Hanch 6-10-2021