In Boston to be/”on the move” often involves/sitting still, honking
Moving so quickly/Through the sky and above clouds/Strangely, I feel still
Moving at sunrise/Sixty-five on the highway/Yields charcoal drawing
A beagle at rest/Oxymoronic at best/High energy pup
Memorial Bridge/Its massive moving towers/Are lit up at night
A checklist for flight/On a cold winter morning/Wind sweeping feathers
Movement leaves a blur/While the branches hold steady/Berries seem to float
Most of my inspiration strikes while I’m on the move, or looking at something else in motion.
I might be on a trek through the woods or an adventure–and occasionally a near-international incident–on the other side of the world.
I might hear a song on the radio while travelling–or while stalled in traffic–and be hurled into a Tralfamadorian tailspin, on the move through time and space.
The flash of a deer’s tail or a rabbit on the run might take me somewhere else entirely.