in a bottle, written
in tears
and
blurry ink, the tide brings
in
all things
and takes them out again
with nary
a thought. The tide
is the
same
as
life. Does not
discriminate
or hesitate
to
obliterate
days
before it
sweeps and scythes.
Quiet Thoughts
Circle of light. A stone.
A wheelbarrow, ivy
growing
up the side. Quietude.
Life
of new
moons
forever
under
a dead sky
over
water
on
a
rock.
Anticipating Brightness
I feel
a puddle
splash
coming on
and I feel
released. What's this then?
Water
beyond the gate
and I'd never seen it
quite as
brightly rainbowed,
though
just
one
set of eyes
can
see
it, yet
it's mine -
and no less
wet.
Reports Are Useless
Heat
repeats itself
today. The leaves droop moodily,
waiting
for rain
that was
predicted yesterday, but never showed.
Even rain
breaks
promises.
No matter that
the clouds
go
gray
to charcoal, skies do
what
they will. History
and
prognosticaters
fail
and fail again, but people remember
the ones
called
right,
and trust
the little
vials and gauges, so mages
who are wrong
are
waved
inside. It's the nay
sayers
camped
at the gates, who despite
the sun, peer warily up, and waterproof
their
tents
while the laughter
inside
is loud enough
to drown in, yet -
they
sit
apart.
It's coming
they
say.
It has before. It is
but sky,
and sky
has signs, Inshallah, as surely
as men
are men
though wings
be
mimed, are tethered
to the appetites of earth
they die denying
that
clouds
eventually
do
bring
rain.
The Strange Disappearance Made Known
More
into the wood
work,
more into the background
every
day
it's happening
more easiy
than ever before. It's not just the loss
of weight
but
ideas
and
skin
within skin, down to the feelings
which have
been
taxed
beyond
their tensile
ability
not to
snap. At some point
they did, when this face became out
ward
stretched,
looking at
trees and others'
suffering - the
particular hum of a bee
or an
insect traveling along the very same path
but
he's
exempt: his hum is alien
to me, and so
I
breathe
it too
and release.
The night is filled
with
such
and more.
It interests me, this careful
touch
of
aspects
of the universe that in
no way
impact
my
own
dire
self
regard, hoping against hope
the words
about losing
one's
self
to find it
