Ode to Socrates

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I knew nothing before you
Not a worthwhile thing
When to climb to heights
Why all feels imprecise
Where I ought to look
To sometimes not think twice

I knew nothing before you
Nothing that meant a fig
How I have it all
Why I love baseball
Not even my name
To rise again, post-fall

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Windward

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There was ev’ry bit the beautiful breeze
The wind in their hair bore the proof

Sweet and temperate
And on occasion, when circumstances necessitated,
Such as each bygone day and now and the ‘morrow,
Fierce

As abandonment, windward or leeward
Sets a compass mark true, does it not?

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Love’s Body

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I felt the opposition
The tension in their shoulders
And expectation in their eyes
As the youth of their love wondered why
Why the stand-off?
For the air is ambient and new today
It is still early
In my hand, find this toy….
Heed this!
There need be no eleventh-hour
Love’s body begged

Landscape

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As They fall
Or try to jump
Some refusing, debating gravity
Some letting go easily
I watch
I come close
I attend
To their this season’s stamina
To their next year’s rebirth
Early arrival
On time, or delayed
Let the Weather so decide

Caesura

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I can do this too, hold on

When the weather turns

Watch in awe

Wait

In wonderment, listen

At the end of the frayed, weeknight rope

I can remember the first days of Spring

Out of sheer will

I will recreate

The green

The youth

The primrose, if I choose