Saturday Afternoon

Clouds dancing
across this vast
ballroom of blue
light.

at the base of this mountain
all the way down
a gate of light glistens
gardens of sound.

Predicament’s Path, Perhaps

is our footing

solid, we ask
the emptiness
considering next
steps or not, onto ground

as yet untrod, here
tentative un-
knowing over
rare space un-
seen invasions, we
are so vulnerable
remembering
to breathe, to turn
off tv news often
hoping green
in this distance
a meadow
these purple
wildflowers, trill
of birdsong overhead,

scampering children,

perhaps that kayak carried
solo towards
a round lake
are not only
a solid collage 

receding, not only
our mirage again perhaps

dissolving..

can you hear within

this eerie quiet

twigs crackling underfoot

as each small step is

boldly taken, smell the scent

of mosses greenly brimming,

feel Springtime’s hum perhaps

of twin hearts surely beating?

Predicament

is our footing
solid, we ask
the emptiness
considering next
steps, here
tentative un-
knowing over
rare space un-
seen invaders, we 
are so vulnerable
trying to remember
to breathe, to turn
off tv news often
hoping green
in this distance
meadow
these purple
wildflowers, trill
of birdsong, scampering
children, perhaps
that kayak carried
solo towards
a round lake
are not only
a solid collage
receding, 
not only 
our collective
lonely mirage....

On the eighth day,

Somewhere between 

Their day of rest

And your savoring 

A dream of cleavage

Of pursed lips

Blowing mischievously

While sitting before 

Coffee in darkness

Continuing that rest,

The whole thing

In all its riven 

Complexity,

Its crevasses

Its clefts,

Was simply 

Forgiven

On the eighth day,

Somewhere between 

A dream of cleavage

And sitting before 

Coffee in darkness,

The whole thing

In all its riven 

Complexity

Was simply 

Forgiven

BREAKFAST UPSTART

For just a moment,

She saw
Herself

As an infinite
Amalgam of stardust,

Suffering enthusiasm,
Solace and lust....

Then, donning battle
Scarred bifocals, returned
To perusing

The back
Of a half-empty box

Of Captain Crunch
Bathed in amber
Light pouring like honey

Onto her cereal bowl
From a hive of bees

Buzzing promiscuously
Around
A nearby star.

Bent over
and kissing the stone
of her absence—

lips of unseen
borders across
the wide water,

then hills
mumbling phrases
that thrill

unforeseen

in a foreign
tongue.

Plump tomatoes,

a whole field
of crimson moons,

   sparkling

in this homeward
sun.

Change of Climate

A terrible mistake!

Unpredicted as a blizzard in August,

rose bushes and palm trees shocked,

stabbed and sagging under

bayonets of ice. Disoriented

adults blink unbelieving eyes, turn on

the weather station, numbly brew

morning coffee.

Kids in shorts and t-shirts

romp in the slick streets, exulting

with each snowball hurled, each car

door pelted white, each bus driver shaking

his fist, each on-target pop here

in summer’s mid-section,

our surprising winter

of no regrets.

Morning Walk

Have you ever

disappeared

complete

into that space

of melody

silently replete

between birdsong

above

and this crunch

of two

steady feet

beneath ?