Goodnight
I live at a place where I can hear the highways cross
Where you can still hear the Canadian geese using the wind to glide their way north.
It's late
Daydreaming is what I usually do when I have imagined needs.
Instead I'm bathing in a few minutes that disappeared because
To accept this warmth, I must accept the patterns of my life-
The departing feathers.
I'd like to think in the morning when I wake for my morning jog,
You'll be there with the wet leaves and the tugging quiet.
Something to take care of
To run along side of, through the terrific blue,
The filthy swear of perfection and the lovely protection of a horizon
Whose end cannot ever be fully realized.
We would give geometry to our feelings
And move through them,
Tree by tree, landmark by landmark
Jogging leaving clocks alone to their own retarded movement,
A life filled with next steps instead of tomorrows
Young Hollow
The younger me
had not gone away.
Humanity pollinating
Seasons of imagination.
Women’s skirts dragging
Behind them in the wind.
An early Easter moon that year,
Fat Tuesday before Valentine’s
Good Friday’s and resurrections
Before the ground unthawed.
Today people fill baskets at the market
And feel saved. I have missed
So many smells in the process
Of dignifying a God of chance.
Coffee ordered and still
The world feels like a strange place.
My journals and thoughts had felt distant.
I feared my hope might be discontinued forever.
& today I cannot stop
Walking and gawking,
Sitting by the sides of churches.
Skin rubbing against brick,
Against things people feel holy.
Scratching my need to touch temptation
I watch a young street kid block the wind
So the the zippo could light his girl’s cigarette-
I feel like I am once again
Learning how to move forward,
Leaning in to kiss a lovely mouth,
Uncertain if the weather will doubt me,
Yet certain today is a day for taking risks.
Oak Roads: Poetry and Musings 