A Poet's Poem

Invocation

First, there is a window, and an ocean beyond it.
Waves come in close.
Surfers sit and bob for want of better ones.
Inside, a small, framed eagle lands,
feet forward, feathers ruffled, reaching.
An orange.
A silver stein holds pens,
red, blue, black ballpoint.
Then me. Living by design.
Invoking passage for any feeling,
come now, *the* feelings that things bring;
that speak through themselves
like still life, waiting to be got.

2007 PT