When you look at me,
sometimes it’s very odd.
I feel as if you are seeing something
that I don’t yet know.
Figuring the future.
Got it down pat.
But I don’t want to know,
unless you show me.
When I look at you,
I wish your flurry of flights would end.
Stay. We’ll share stories.
Category Archives: Uncategorized
Holding the fort
under my thumb
i have felt
felt
then, enveloped
in warmth,
i have sent four soldiers
as peacekeepers,
with trimmed nails
and an artistic bent.
No words
Looking back,
I think she was afraid
when I saw her truth.
We had never spoken,
but in the group sessions,
she surprised me
with split second glances
and strange blushes.
Then, tables turned,
I made a game
of trying to catch her eye.
Not a single word.
That’s how it goes.
…and then one night, as I walked under a streetlight in the fluttering snow, she pulled up to the stop sign in a pickup truck. Rolled down the window. Smiled and waved. I waved back, though I didn’t know who it was, or how the heck anyone would have recognized me in a winter parka. Next morning, I waited in line for a coffee at the drive-thru. As I pulled up to the window, there she was, with her half smile and eyes averted. I broke the ice and said “I know you. You drive a black Ford pickup, right?” Again, a blush. “Thanks for your order, Sir.”
Here is a Book of Faces
of a nobler sort.
Each one (that can be seen),
beautiful in some way.
If we but read between the lines,
we can divine their colours.
So many are umbral now,
I fear.
But I am fatalistic, cynical.
I hope I am wrong,
when I cry
for the ones who smile.
Puppers
We were nine.
I believed everything you said.
Touching a toad gave you warts.
Step on a crack,
you break your mother’s back.
Kill a spider and it rains.
We made grasshoppers spit tobacco,
knew the divinity
of buttercups, daisies,
and dandelion chains.
Such puppies in love.
On my way
In a while,
maybe,
I will not know you.
Don’t cry or be afraid
when you do not know me.
There’s a short story
yet to be told,
and it begins its writing
with a halting hand.
Even as I stand over a tiled drain,
I make the water hotter.
That spinal rush.
That warming touch.
A hand taken
Trickle-down drops
and slowed lightning
speak to me of pathways.
Oh, I know
that practice makes perfect.
Must I learn, once again,
what was glossed over
too quickly?
Numbers and Deuteronomy
taught me that details
are not bedeviled.
Now, I pay attention
without training wheels.
Coquette!
Side glances are nice,
I like.
Eye rolls with a half smile too.
I’m always glad to see the back of you,
but not in the traditional sense.
Coquettish.
In my dream, I drink champagne
from your glass slipper.
Help you with your broken zipper.
Stocking seams are back in style.
Ahem!
Adamless Eve
Dearest Eve-
When you are born,
may you grow
in sacrificial love.
May you bathe
in the galloping days,
take the hand of many,
and rejoice in that which is given.
When you teach,
we will follow,
laying aside all that is false.
This is your time.
We will be ready.
The oddness
Could it be a tangle of ganglia
that makes me think odd things
and care about devil’s details?
You see a tree, a rock, a brick.
I think of searching roots,
the alchemy of an acorn,
compactions of crystals
from Earth’s hot breath,
and cuboid ovens cooking in colours.
Aremyfeetofftheground 