a shrug, a hug
touchdown, letdown
waving, curling, sprouting
disco, vogue; praise, prayer
bird-pecked, green-specked
skeletonized, or multiplied
flower and fruity fingered
flipped, frail, or fallen off
perfected, nested, crested
In effect
guilt, grief, regret
cut deeper than
the dimensions
of the soul itself
A little blue
“I’ve been feeling a little blue — just a pale, elusive azure. It isn’t serious enough for anything darker.”
—L. M. Montgomery, Anne of the Island, 1915
Galactic gathering
Standing in a silent still-dark February morning
Cool dewy grass grazes half-bare sandaled feet
Lo! Saturn arrives as Jupiter saddles Sagittarius
Mars burns red near the glowing crescent moon
Serpens slithers against a vaporous galaxy border
Antares winks green and gold, crimson and rust
As Scorpius swings its tail at the southern horizon
Libra starboard and upward of the crowded scene
Balancing askew over the poor impaled lone wolf
Ophiuchus a bystander in the busy celestial show
Growing old
minutes bloom
hours flower
seconds vine
through the hands
of time —
days hustle
weeks speed
decades scatter
in confetti’d years
Your battle
If your armor against the world is laziness and excuses, you’re not protecting yourself from battle and injury — you’ve trapped yourself inside with them.
Vertigo
i think my body
is afraid of heights
because my mind
is already always
too dangerously
close to the edge
Golden hours
Morning golden hour is the warm glow of the day’s potential.
Evening golden hour is nature’s afterglow to a day well spent.
Blend & blur
late winter and early spring blend and blur
in pleasant days and chilly nights
penetrating sun and gentle cool breezes
with stirrings of life, subtle and green —
mornings that light ever earlier rouse us, but
sunsets that still come in evening’s youth lull
Desert winter departing
early February in the desert —
the sun is springtime warmth
the breeze, winter’s leftovers
It’s personal
there is no timetable for grieving —
grief is a snail
it’s a shooting star
a walk around the lake
it’s eternity
or frost till bloom —
memories coursing through the heart
it lasts as many heartbeats as it takes —
sometimes all of them.
Onward
Stumbling over all those little moments of grief is just a part of moving forward.
At two-fifty-nine
Prayer to the middle-of-the-night gods:
please let me sleep —
thank you for the beautiful moon
and winter silence
but please let me fall back to sleep —
no offense.
Amen.