Afternoon Indolence

fresh out of the shower

he lies naked

on cool sheets

underneath

a whirling fan

That Day

She stops

and heeds

the speech

of stones

at this silvery

threshold..

Up On Otay

Darkly immobile

the speech of stones

my heart my ears

sifting their strength

contented....

Flying Solo

Living alone
has many
advantages.

The ice cream
in the freezer
stays put

until you finish off
that final bowl
all by yourself.

The toothpaste tube
and toilet paper roll

always are positioned
properly and recycled
in a timely fashion

into their assigned
receptacles.

There’s never a need
for negotiation regarding
on which wall

those airborne humans
in the Chagall print
belong or if the forks

and spoons are happiest
on the right or left
side of the stove.

And when you come home
from a walk roaming
through your quiet 

neighborhood
late at night

there’s no annoying
partner to greet
and hug you,

to kiss your quivering lips

and smile lovingly
at your simple
existence,

as you step in
from the cold.

 A Vibrant Shabby Home

This body, a crumbling

estate built by generations

of Croatians, Norwegians,

Swedes and Ojibwa ancestors,

is slowly transforming, some

would say ‘falling apart’ :

a swollen profligate prostate,

sometimes foggy brain,

shrinking biceps and seedling

cataracts not yet needing surgery;

but zest and joy are still

to be had dancing in the dusty

courtyard under starlight at midnight,

planting poppies of hope

at the feet of a statue of Venus,

and sitting entranced for hours 

outside with coffee Sunday morning

in the backyard—the vibrato

of hummingbirds sipping

from blossoms above, a solo monarch

brilliant in early light flits from rosebush

to lemon tree to the pines across the road,

and then the star of the show—

a gray bunny who’s recently made this old

place his home and happily nibbles

the lettuce and apples he’s given.

Graced by a beautiful disrepair—

holes in a screen door, weeds

in the garden, a missing plank

in the deck where Nibbles now lives,

there’s wildness here and in the quiet 

at dusk, songs of longing and joy 

can be heard flowing 

from the ancient infrastructures 

woven from bone and blood, stone 

and steel, all that lives here now 

and has lived and left,

those ancestors who worked, rested, 

wandered and wondered,

the ones I now thank

who loved this body 

into vibrant being. 

 A lone seagull

bobs on ocean's

back like a pearl

shimmering

upon your neck.

A terrycloth robe

caresses your skin

with spindrift kisses

calling you home....

Treasure

Quietly,

You sit.

The orange bison arrives
Across the cave wall

Of your spacious mind

Shimmering

Like ancient amber
In November mist,

Heading towards the bone-dry
Continents’ edge, like you,

Nose to ground beyond
These sky-high flames,

Beyond images
Embedded in memory

Of those sacred days
Where ferns and fields
Danced in tumbling rain,

Searching searching

Searching for water,

And then,

That thirst-slaked herd
Aching for release

Rumbles like a thunderstorm
Over the grassy plain.