RIGHT NOW SOMEWHERE ON THE GLOBE

The poetry marathon is cutting across a different segment of the stratum of the world

But the same segment of the journey we are on together.

Someone is in a household that is waking up,

Someone is in a household that is going to sleep.

Someone looks out their window at the bright sunlight and thinks about the pumping of their heart.

Someone looks out their window and sees the dark, and takes their metropolol to control the pumping of their heart.

One person sees a meadow and recognizes it as Yosemite.

Another wonders why there is a boardwalk in the wildnerness.

People see glassy buildings that look like home,

Others see an alien structure found only in the fabled big cities.

One person writes their first poem at 6AM, after a sleepless night worrying they will miss the alarm.

At the same moment another person is checking the clock after a comfortable dinner at home.

One person strolls in and out of their familiar writing spot,

Another is hunched at the kitchen table.

At the same moment one person is writing while rush hour traffic pelts by,

Another is hearing the crickets.

Another hears a distant siren in the quiet of the night.

One person is writing on the Sabbath,

Another will finish just in timey r church.

Sleepy and wakeful,

Isolated and distracted.

Quietly centered and

Raging with a personal drama,

We are all at the same moment,

finger to the keys,

In the same moment, the same rhythm, the same phase,

of the marathon.