An empty room
hangers rattle in the closet–
Breeze through the window
An empty room
hangers rattle in the closet–
Breeze through the window
Against the flat road,
the horizon, stacked lines–
Clouds puff up their chests
A Manet sunset,
spring whispering in the clouds,
through stray rain drops
A song whistled by
a passing shadow– What was that tune?
Quickly, before the bus
A squirrel jumps out,
swinging from the tree branch, ah–
dark clouds to the West
A sudden headlight
my heartbeat in my throat–
Shuffle in darkness
A cold spring morning
huddled in a worn-out coat–
The trees don’t shiver
A deserted path– Rare silence for wandering in a burgeoning world
A fallen branch tumbling in the grass black arms in silvery moonlight
Daydreaming,
then stamping my feet–
stay present!
Empty pond,
Sitting without time–
Blue heron
Breathing is an art
and the chair’s empty stillness
is perfection
cafe hearing laughing
staring at an empty cup–
stories and echoes
Ducks on the sidewalk–
waddling pedestrians
bagel crumbs and honks
Each year a lifetime,
each self a silvery thought–
Who wears those shoes next?
Empty bed hallway floor creaking–
Curtains sway
December rain–
Trees mottled with unfallen leaves,
anxious, waiting to sleep
Deep in the night
a siren’s wail stirs the cat–
walls soaked in red light
Everyday waders,
terrified and mystified
by the deep beyond
dreams postponed
sunrise blue hallways
cold wood floor
Failure’s kiss–
a lover we often call
and can never escape
Far from Buddha–
drinking coffee, sunrise,
trying not to try
Grey, decaying man
folded into his hat on
a wooded park bench
Ignore the smell
fresh coffee in the kitchen–
Sit and breathe
Flat plastic bottles
cartwheels in the breeze of
delivery trucks
I’ve spent a lifetime
preparing to blow out the candle–
but please, not yet.
I am all the things
that I’ll never be–
and I can’t get up
I found a bird’s nest
sitting sideways in the snow–
Walking to the train
Living by clocks,
calls, calendars, coffee–
a bird hops by in dawn’s light
Into the desert
Sun and heat, our creators
also take from us
In a vase
a white flower wilts–
winter clouds
In every morning
the swollen promise of hope–
The mind’s dayflower
In snow, muffled footsteps,
the chickadee puffed, perverse,
complaints to me
Into the dark hole
shelter from an angry storm–
The frightened rabbit
Never comforted,
they ache for meaningfulness–-
Steeled and graying oaks
No drama, madam,
but my tea is so cold and
your voice is so loud
Not speaking
our aimless bodies circling
Drastic yearning lost
Notes from old friends
imaging lives lived far away–
the cat stretches
Man with the rotting
smile greets the train-goers,
“who is happy today?”
Praying to a bowl,
cross-legged and bowing down–
but who is listening?
Path to the river–
who’s feet will keep it cleared once I leave?
People have gone mad
The last warm night of summer–-
Car horns erupting
One brown leaf center of the lawn– a still breeze
One flag moves gently the flag next to it draped still– A mystery wind
One foot out of the covers, waiting for the autumn breeze
One weak thread holding the garment until a pull– patience
Owl on the streetlight,
bats flying from trees at dusk
exotic suburbs
passing reality – bundled people shambling along winter streets
November sun- Milky white light wash long shadows, thin trees
Sit quietly wait for the new day– Hear the bird!