The Sky About to Cry

It is not quite full yet.

The yellow jacket nest is still.

The trees are awake to a grey brightness;

The still clouds are grey filled.

The last shower nests

On the pavement floor, but

The sun has not toweled it up in arms.

I am watching the moisture, which

tilting down to my feet asks me

to drink of fluids flowing

from another’s mouth.

Coffin of Dreams

It was day, but it is night now.

Light is turning off

One Switch after another

Congealing the fate of the day.

I want to slam the door on those who sleep

Waking them up to finish our conversations.

My dreams have been like coffins

For unfinished business affairs

With the jury still out, but

The memories buried

And the coffin sealed shut against tomorrow.

Moss blocking a line of a tombstone’s

Melody sung in difference–

Go home again.

Go home again!



The Touch of the World

Seamlessly melting onto

The cool of day      


                                     In me

Someone is telling me

      They didn’t mean to,

       But they did.

Someone is telling me

      What I should do, but

I can’t

       I can’t say anything–

       They have blocked me.

A locked apology

   Is none at all.

A heart opens just a little

     And then thanks me with

       With the smell of flowers on it

            Lingering and weaving through the day.

                Touching the place of no apology.

Reflection:  In the evening, looking into the pool of day, swirling like an eddy, I see the sorrow and joys of the world and not just me.