Now is a thin ledge
for mindhold to grasp for long;
past and future reign.
Hour before dawn
Horned owl hoots alarm in pines
Trouble on the way
River flowing past
dawn breaks grey stones budding trees
trout rise to dry fly
all the leaves dropped dead
bare branches, hard arteries
squirrels' nests, bulging clots
Fluid cells of sky
bring concrete vistas to life
in speckled portraits
at The Dakota
Rosemary's Baby was born
Lennon lived and died
yesterday's children
silent ghosts of old New York
walk cobblestone streets
tick and tack of sleet
upon breadth of dying blades -
duck paddles through reeds
dancing through the night
Saigon, city of life, owl
dreams the morrow's hawk
Perching on the log
grains of sand by river side
as fine as his life.
faster and faster
ice skaters circle the pond
keeping pace with time
A friend from my youth
visits after many years:
gray hair and slow steps.
I walk down this hill
to my grandmother's grave... no
pallbearer today
tears from yesterday
the bouquet of lilies rest
beside your headstone
autumn's life story---
of youth, spring love, golden years
each leaf a memoir
like the elephant
autumn of life maps my flesh
with wisdom not years
My breath comes slowly.
The breeze's smell reminds me
of roses. It's time.
Hours of packing books.
Nearby, an open dumpster
glistens in the rain.
Is it a question
only, and simply enough,
of honoring life?
winter of my life
dreaded, anticipated
all is known someday
Youth, you think is flesh
concealing skulls, eye sockets
but your soul stays young
man in a black hat
he's angry; his life bores him
sleet begins to fall
bright colors proclaim
it's time to harvest the fruit
precious pinks and reds
They are on all night
And sleep throughout the day time
Waiting for people
Antique Chinese bowl -
Kangxi - three hundred years old.
Now it holds loose change.
Old mining cabin
succumbing to time's passage
with its memories
Through Moments Passing
Lights Last Brightness Recedes to
Darkening Ridgeline
It is the white hour
between deep night and soft dawn.
Even the wren stares.
long night, minus tide,
small sounds alive, eel grass combed--
tide flats stink and sweat
forever's so long
longer than is my patience
waiting on myself
one paw at a time...
old cat searches tenderly
for the morning sun
leaf on the water
lost peripatetic limb
retains a green life
Seventeen busy
syllables. Cluttering this
moment, while I sit.
The colors of life
Are so very beautiful
Reflections of love.
youth's illusive hour
full of golden memories
to warm winter's chill.
is it chlorophyll
making moss and fern so green
or my aging eyes?