How the hours pass

It stormed last night
But the daylight brought a calm.
Birds chirp from drying branches,
The cat naps on the sunny porch
Tail flicking away the flies,
A drunk man sleeps in a stooper
Having barely made it home,
And somewhere a baby cries.
Gently paddled canoes glide across the glass
Stopping to pound the water,
Its echo carrying far across the bay;
Such a lonely sound.
The wind moves ripples,
Orchestrates the palm leaves
And gently whispers secrets, incomprehensible.
A stork is perched atop a distant tree
Its awkward body balanced perfectly
A model of absurdity,
Like the workmen tiring out their Saturday
On the unfinished house below.

The cat stands and stretches
The drunk man snores
And the baby finds its mother's breast.
Sunshine glistens on the water,
The glass having shattered to a million pieces;
Reflecting, refracting, perplexing.
The stork takes flight
Breaking natures laws of fineness;
Its giant wings unfolding
To cast dark shadows on the world.
A rooster crows
In the cavernous, unfinished house;
This is how the hours pass.