Who is there to invest
The earth with wonder
But us? To witness its
Billon billion mysteries
Pressed into a mote?
To sing the stories
It is but doesn’t know?
Harmless Monsters
The cafe furniture's afloat
On rising reverie, a child exhaling
A smile that reaches back to all the smiles
As she spins a simple tale with
Harmless monsters in it,
Her mom's eyes on her and not,
Not anywhere she'd care to say.
At Age 12 …
A Cleansing Wind
It's picking at the eyes of reason,
Gorging on low taunts,
Reveling in empathy's distress
Even as it hears behind it
The gathering rustle
Of a cleansing wind.
Travel Photographer
Co-Conspirators
Weeds don't make themselves.
The earth and air and water and sun
Invite them, co-conspirators
In the swelling of their mischief.
Little Lords
They dressed in smirks
And straight-leg jeans and
Sleeveless undershirts,
Little lords of fast-food
Parking lots on faded asphalt
Friday nights down the road
From patient, hungry
Foretold things.
Some Mornings
Some mornings,
My personal Mercury
In retrograde,
I have no words
For things
I know are there,
That wait
For names.
Soon Stowed
Truth waits in the bare trees,
Perched there, impassive,
Coal-eyed truth, on the limbs,
In mourning feathers,
Autumn blowing in
Past the huddled harbor masts
And through the tired tin
Of the fun fair rides,
Soon stowed, soon stowed.
Reincarnation
An old one unsleeves.
Sleeps. Becomes itself again.
Knows nothing from then.
