Sunday, June 25, 2017

Foggy Dawn

She said there's room for
some kind of flash in the pan,
some flare up of hope,
some change in the shape
of slithery things to come
once the sun rises...

if the sun rises
on this latest weird damn day
of all the long days

that trail behind us
and are still rolling over
our crushed and shattered
arrangements and poise

(we had no right to them all)

as we lay them down
with the feathers shed
in our summer's latest molt,

We call as swans do.
our bodies newly pink
and utterly bare.

25 Jun 2017 5:33 AM

Thursday, June 1, 2017

Old Wood

I am the old wood
receiving you as the rain
in all its aspects,
as mist, as the splash
or the roar of a tempest,
with the black of night
or the sun peeking
and the arc doubled sometimes,
receiving your moods
and the feel of you
whether you are cold or warm
and you strip me down.

August 9, 2011 7:40 PM

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