Dvorak

he’s on the cusp of something
you can tell by the way he rocks on
the balls of his feet
standing in your doorway

he’s wearing an off-white suit
and his curls combed back
hefty beard sending waves of confidence
he finally comes in
he asks for a sharp pencil
and thick paper
and patiently waits

then begins drawing

seems to unleash ideas with a pencil in hand
the doodles depict rivers and trees and sky
but his words go further
speaking of beauty broken up by
flashes of reality like
a river corrupted
a diseased tree
a clouded sky

he’s not sure how to say it
and you’re not sure you understand
but there on the cusp
you catch his bearded meteoric mood