Dud

I imagine the universe echoes us all
At some point distant, or close
Rings back like a lover, or brother, or friend
Then, silence -when you need them most

It’s possible love transcends murderous words
In subsequent lifetimes, or past
A dynamite stick, burning from both the ends
Its light soon to fizzle, it’s heat a mere flash

Uninsulated

Thank you for this window now,
Of thin and vintage time.
The safehouse to set a spell,
The anchored birch, my lean-to.
That I’d be reminded
In these gusty days
There is still
The reaching skyward
And strength to see it.

Baseball

I don’t want to live this yet, Springtime

For, every time the birds and bees and all manner of creatures and things -good sports and bad- migrate back

There’s the media storm, the tough talk, the hype, the great expectations placed in the wrongest of wrong places

So I will close my eyes and wait, Springtime

Green

And when we’re nearly ninety-nine

Fading, yet certain of our fate and the love it made with us

Green still, relatively so

We’ll walk, treasuring the sands, the time