Yet another eclipse poem

YET ANOTHER ECLIPSE POEM

The moon is just the latest thing getting in the way
of what I need to do today. Someone wise once told me
that an interruption is not an obstacle in the way of the work;
The interruption is the work itself. But days, these days don’t
go as planned, fall in line, yield fruitful results as promised.
Instead they torrent pour, blaze engulf, surge wave. Shock and
Awe. Drone bomb.

I’ve grown used to navigating these days like minefields.
So forgive me this April morning for fearing a solar eclipse
as the kind of disruption that destroys a precious hour
instead of the kind that stills the sky, calms the oceans, 
pauses transactions at the register, diffuses ticking hearts,
so briefly becomes what makes an hour precious.
Awe. The work itself.