Moving Day
In a corner of the coffee shop
They wait for their order
Her back faces me
I see him clearly
Through stickered smudged windows
Morning sun highlights round face
Behind black framed glasses
Bright blue eyes glisten
Grin broad as the clear sky
Slumped in his chair
Sweat pants and hoodie
Lounges in warmth
She leans toward him
Straight hair to shoulders
Glasses hug her protruding ears
They exchange curt lines
Cheerful banter
She tents in a winter coat
Their order is called
He grabs the paper bag
Balances the coffee carrier
She holds open the door
A draft of street brisk air
Stirs/blends with coffee/pastry aroma
Keys clutch in small hand
To the rent a truck she leads
Cold air
Bold world
She turns to him
Blue sky smiles
Highways ahead
There is no limit
To where they can go
Little House Down the Path
The only light comes from the house
Path strewn with little impediments
Loose stone, roots protrude
The path winds slightly
Like a river in decline
Before meandering rends it useless
Nearing the soft amber glow
Through the window
I see the boy in teal dinosaur pajamas
Tireless kinetic being
Pauses briefly before skirting
Like a startled minnow in shallow water
Quick tail flicking
Down the darkened hall
To the deep ocean of dreams
Pathetic Words
What can I say?
My sweet confections
Will not sooth the bitter cup
My grains of sand
Will not fill your canyon
Condolences drop
From my cavernous mouth
Small stones faint clatter
Echo rock face misery
That river erodes
Carved channels meander
Your sun will not reach
Shadows sink deep
My words course Styx
Boil in waters of want and ignorance
Like two children huddled under
The heavy coat of presence
They are orphaned
They raft rudderless to hell
It is all I can give
So I give
Knowing I give
Never enough
Spring Thaw
Press yours to mine
We brew in our thaw
Tendrils of ice recede
Across our warming land
Our tea warms our hands
Cradle the delicate cup
Lemon honey tongue tipped
Sprout truth without words
Tender emotional herds
Graze in softening fields
Bare vineyards absorb sun
After a winter devoid of fruit
We dig deep roots
Hold like moss on fieldstone walls
Permanence in long embrace
Bright sky blooms your petaled face
Poet under Construction
In a corner at the party
Roots a wallflower
Observes Black-Eyed Susans
Bachelor’s Buttons go to seed
The last sprout to get laid
Will feel too much
Absorb every drop of water
In future desert climates
Always thirsting
Fallow fields crave
The rich soil of touch
The neglected bloom of being
Learns the value of rain
Doubts a cloudless week
Sips sundown cocktails
Balances slim stemmed glass
Like carefully chosen words
To drain and rinse
On pen and paper
In the still of morning
Out there…
One sings a lullaby
One spits blood in an alley
One restrings a bow
One wakes from a dream
One goes back to sleep
Another slides fingers across a pelvis
Another tightropes a railroad trestle
Another kayaks to a moonlit abyss
Another steals an egg from a nest
Some will sing in harmony
Some will shout in discord
Some will read scripture
Some will build a gallows
More will march in place
More will stand in silence
More will light a candle
More will stoke a pyre
One will live alone
One will choose a mate
One will choose a cause
One will walk a path
A path that chose the one