The Running of the Bulls
Such captivating blueness of a sky - divinity’s dilated eye.
And on a seascape floats a cumulous armada.
No misty, roaming hermit to be seen.
And far, far below, the feng shui breezes flow.
A swarm of men ~ though uniform ~ they speak in many tongues.
The swing, the ping ~ the cracking, whacking sound of ball against a breathless bat
announce the time is richly ripe ~for the running of the bulls.
One slides in place to dusty triumph ~ another, hesitant to move.
The Alpha Sun in glorious strength ~ it heaves its fiery chest ~
descends upon these creatures of the herd.
The ever-gracious brilliant light bows down to serve ~
but mindless of its stunning warmth, the drama of the bulls plays on.
Now comes the changing of the guard which seems to me eternity ~
and brutish bellows, screeching screams and bleeping bleep, bleep bleeps.
And all is heard above an almost drowned-out chirping and refrain ~
a chorus of angelic birds straining toward aerial attunement.
A hit, a miss and then success ~ the ball takes wing and soars ~
and then a roaring of the bulls, a thunderous rushing for the bases,
a backward scrambling ~ outstreched hooves ~ an almost mythic moment!
Alas, it drops and rolls away. This ball ~ it knows its Mind, its Destiny.
And as for self, upon this bench ~ I am an audience of one ~ though many.
I sit within this earthly, freeing spacious theatre, beneath a ceilinged dome of light
and shades of blue and liquid pearly images of white and fractalled greens.
As I await ~ Act II - The Running of the Bulls ~ Commences. Life Stampeded!