Matter

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What you know is there, there is
You sixth-sense the far rumble from many-a-mile 

With barometer’s grace, you notice the change 
In the air, in your knees, in the bees
An ambery atmosphere resonates now 

As it all becomes new, what you thought you knew 
Turns a corner and trouble you find

Want turns to need and then back again 
The dance in the walk of your days spins, then stumbles
Love lives deep and cannot tell why

The quiet speech inks the world and your skin
This means everything -beyond that, nothing

Can Dream

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I want at eighty

Aged fingers aching, you ask from your dustless desk

That I sit on your lap

“Come here my dear,” your mind tells mine, and I run from the garden to you

My muddy hands press each vowel as soft as you silently wish

Consonants requiring more, you place your hands upon mine

The numbers, my math, needs your correction “17-something…” I say

My age, you know, my dear

Veiled

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To tip-toe eternal I am able
Though are you not bored with this gentle dance
Have you not tired of the dusty curtain calls
Or watched enough of me in the wings
Can I not come crashing through
And at your feet petition truth
I recall tenderness I could not have imagined
I pray and I trust you are warm with mercy
Where have I spent these years
Will the rest be so cold

Watching Them

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Red-blooded bird
Black mask stealing
Her olive heart

Full speed ahead
Swift wings chasing
Strong wings

Her tangerine mouth
Mocks that lovely feathered cone
Atop that busy head

She forages below
What does she know
He thinks