In the Grease

For Melanie


With graceful turns at languid pace the moon
revolves, and rabbit plays his game of chase.
While far below in silent spin the race
of Earth may stand transfixed in awe of tune
celestial.  Yet through the night are strewn,
unseen by nearly every upturned face,
the tell-tale signs of Clotho's wondrous grace:
of time aligned in time and none too soon.
This yarn, so finely plied of silken thread,
envelops all.  And yet we cannot see
nor hear, nor taste nor touch and feel its hand,
'til neath the ground we lastly make our bed.
What staple length allows a draft so free
when moons as whorls may spin at your command?

Epitaph for a Lady

A butterfly stretches newly minted wings
exotic and remote,
and hurricanes ensue.

While closer to home a tenant longs for ownership,
a salesman dreams of financial reward,
And a marquee goes dark.

All things connected.
All lines intersect.
All interests converge into one vibrating whole.

Building for Lease

Silent and solemn.
Who knew lust would quickly die
at the hand of greed?

Aspirational Shoes

Fifteen paces ahead
Red soles flashing with every step
She walks
Clumsily
Carefully
Avoiding potholes and grates
Toes pointing to cardinal directions
Unsteady
Ungainly
Wanting to be something she is not
yet.

Vacation Beard


Stroke by stroke and pass by pass
the warmed steel slices away the persona of leisure.
Five days’ growth is gone.
And as it settles on the bottom of the basin I wonder –
Is memory found only in mind?
Or is some infinitesimal piece bound up in whisker?

Messenger

I wish I were a bicycle messenger.
Oblivious to danger.
Pedaling furiously through town.
Navigating upstream between lanes of oncoming cars.
Then darting onto the sidewalk -
a right angle impulse -
to stop at a cafe
and enjoy an espresso with my bike messenger friends.

What would we talk about?
What issues would we debate?

Who among us is fastest?
A friend's most recent tattoo?

Or, just perhaps, our waning immortality?

The Daily Commute

Far below my window
thousands of multicolored ants
jewel-like in the sun
slowly rush to their destinations

north or south, east or west
some to their homes
to husbands, wives, lovers, children

some to their work
whether drudgery or joy

all oblivious to each other
to me
and to the world around them