Time

In a journal in well written white,
the presupposition of posies,
the assumption of risk.

Beyond books,
cinders drift lonely through cities
too hot to feel their burn.
All that dust
that pushes pavement forward
to an unforeseeable finale is from
dust to dust

in a fourth world, my mother
cooks salmon on a simulated Saturday.

On a Sunday superimposed on the
wall of my one thousandth year,
my daughter wears sapphires,
asks me for a pond.

Age burrows in me like a tick.
I will write it away.

Faults

I’m free of rain.

I show my picture to the mirror.

I was not busy in my shiny days

and now I see

clouds of supplication ahead,

burning bronze.

 

My shape shifting selfishness

Folded into a skin box,

Origami.

 

My life was born for a while,

between sameness and joy.

 

Ten times I memorize myself,

candy candle

I have to light,

To guide kaleidoscope perception

Back home to me.

 

Interdependence is difficult and soft,

ad infinitum.

Escaping the Warren

The simple grave
of the rain.
The driving wind
makes tracks through parched prairie.

The leanest rabbit escapes the warren.
Teeth marks, bone, thin hair.
Beyond the metronomic society
nourishing sustenance.

This field is sacred and untouched
by the rushing realism of
corporeal men.
Through the bladed brown,
The cottontail prances,
grateful and alone.