NO PLACE SPECIAL

morning motion,city traffic, cold in summer, a moment not to be judged by the ordinary   outside unfolds, steeled faces fear unseen dangers, yet find safety within it   like birds appearing to have no where to go

MORE THAN A DREAM

top pocket dreams,close to the heart, paper drop tears on unsent love letters as I look up from beneath at the crossroads of life, wondering from below the moving parts above, in the shape of shadows and whispers, while   rose pedals and magnolias drip onto my shoulders with unexpected mercy, placing me within the … More MORE THAN A DREAM

THE FABRIC OF MOVING

bundled,estranged souls, streams of wool and cotton, buckles and brocades traversing streets and sidewalks, stepping to stairs, lined at doors, waiting at lights, journeys day and night to safety, to escape, to arrive, as the circle continues unafraid of reaching the end  

FLOATING BACKWARD    heavy damp air presses down chimney smoke with an unseen hand   ditches are full of last nights rain   we rest at fireside, warming the within   unworn stories release like water over smooth stones as we hold between what is regularly reviewed without compromise

THE FUTURE OF THIS

THE FUTURE OF THIS    shadows and smoke slip beyond the screen door, each to a path, a tunnel, past the mix of great and small and the parts of temptation and enemies the heart defends against, knowing that as things change they somehow remain the same    

PIECES OF HEAVEN  doorways,rooftops,warm shingles,trees of spring.the aroma of green,clotheslines withfresh air cottonsdrying,an open windowwelcomes the outsideto breeze withinwhere baked breadreleases buriedmemories in thedreams I dream 

GRAVEDIGGERS

GRAVEDIGGERS soft dirt foot print on a fresh grave, a death bed of brown earth and a few small stones,   shovels lean on a wooden shed where inside two men play cards,   soiled fingers sweaty shirts the odor of work in their hair, they snort and spit rising slowly cursing the heat and … More GRAVEDIGGERS

GOING THIS WAY

    it was a burst of journey, a passage somewhere behind the rain, between sun and moon waiting for the rise of gray pearl clouds, decorating, reinventing the will of the soul into a garden of thirsting  

CLEARLY

he sits, sipping his tea on a porch before meadows and mountains familiar to his voice and supplications, under stars and bright sun, considering dreams, some real some reminders  of a good life with songs brightly sung and poetry, the puzzle of words, that some plainly grasp, but for a few, the message remains deep … More CLEARLY

TOP OF THE STAIRS

candlelit shadows collide as hands reach and then withdraw in the room upstairs soaked with comfortable aromas and layers of dust where men with rough shirts and weathered hands toss dice at the crease of wall and floor smoking cigarettes speaking softly when the dice bite back or rise for the moment with luck