the focus isn’t necessarily not here today,
but it is wide and reaching and not necessarily on
the poem piece i’m in the moment making…

maybe it’s on a memory of years and years ago,
and wondering if that one person i interacted with
once
ever thinks fondly on their time helping me
decide what hot sauce i like best on my diner eggs
[i certainly think about them sometimes,
though i don’t even remember their appearance at all…]

maybe it’s on the moment i just had —
looking into the prism that spins rainbows around our house,
but when the sunlight directly flows through it
to ones eyes, one will be blinded in that spot
for approximately the time it takes to write
one stanza of one poem…

maybe it’s on my coffee
or my morning routine
or what i still have to do today
or what i’ll need to be doing later
or maybe my focus is just flitting around
the outsides of my figurative vision, waiting
for my peripheral to catch up with what i have already known
deep down
deep down.