Presence Poem by Troy Cochran

It's the moment point that holds the magic.

Not the backward glance
with the hidden blade of a dull regret.

Nor yet the whirling dervish of a tossed hatchet,
the crazy acrobat, the mis-step
of over-aiming your target

(... the looking right, ... the looking left, ...
the disbelief! ... the exit! ...)

I like to keep my canvas always white
painting only with a focus.

I like to line my stars up right.
If it doesn't wink, that's not my problem.
I flick it from my cosmic.

I am the Sheriff around these parts
and what I say has some importance

... to me, at least; to you, a joke.

It takes a little practice; and, perhaps,
one too many smokes

To flow the power down your sleeve
and start your day out with a poke.

Hocus-Pocus-Focus.

(wink)