A poem about getting what we need...

They babble. Words tumbling like Chesil pebbles
Spilled from careless flapping satchels
Leaving nothing but a pile of forgettable sketches
Scrawled on shingle with washable chalk.

Their aimless talk a swollen tide of prattle
Of send, more send, and send again,
Like the half tuned rain of a day time radio
Chatters its sponsored grinning greetings
To an audience of none.

And then you. The world becomes your path,
The static blown like burning fog as light bends around you
Focussing the random clutter on that single point of contact.
This slow breath becomes a moment of rare clarity.
No more clumsy words slip from this tongue.
You are the message.