April 7

April 7, 2015
by C
comments 4
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No pound of flesh now
but a pound of breaths

to be repaid
ruthlessly

unreasonably
but legally–

.

peculiar to lose
so much sleep

expend so much
grief

over something
intangible

pixeled numbers in
an online ledger

here and gone
quick as that

no action
required

.

I think I might
prefer the pound

of flesh
at least

it can put up
a fight (or flight)

.

numbers
circle my head

like dizzy
cartoon birds

(or flat-eyed
sharks)

it depends
on my mood
.

which depends
on whether

or not I’ve
remembered

to breathe
but do I even

own that
if someone

else owns
me?

April 6

April 6, 2015
by C
comments 12
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Morning breaks like
a rare china plate

with guilt
and marvel

at what cannot
be undone

something
that was years

in the making
and was years

in the saving
is now only was

the sun spills
out its golds

and pinks recklessly
it fills the freeway

softens suburbs
honeys mountains

but only for a minute
or two and then

it’s only
daylight

and business
as usual

April 5

April 5, 2015
by C
comments 10
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Loathe to return
from the sun-lit ledge
the valley below still
shadowed by peaks
and cutting across it
a dream of a lake
voiceless
for a while we didn’t
even speak just felt
the warmth of sun
the chill of wind
attuned and not attenuated
Emily’s right the soul
has its moments
bandaged escaped retaken–
all the way down
it felt like shackles
the hours closing in
again appallingly
close so terribly
still

April 2 (NaPoWriMo experiment)

April 2, 2015
by C
comments 13
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Strange to say a starless night they’re all still up there
god bear ladle monster man daughter

strange to think they also live and die
collapsing inward exploding out terribly
constant in middle age (and strange how none go quite the same)

and how we think we know them having given
them names still wishing upon them

strange how empty a place space is

how far away these sparks the speed of light
not speedy enough we very well may be wishing
on ghosts

photons from stars long gone
not strange however:

how we see ourselves in them being mostly star
ourselves elementally down to the fingertips
still used to trace and teach

Perseus Ursa Major Big Dipper Draco Orion Andromeda still

it’s strange to say as constant as the stars
(or misleading)

strange how they are more like us than we
might realize hardly eternal but older
than words and yet sometimes still

so very young

April 1 (NaPoWriMo experiment)

March 31, 2015
by C
comments 19
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I guess it’s too late
to live on a farm.

As if I could buy a house!
Let alone land.

A place of my own–
is what my friend sighed,

our someday dream,
our loftiest goal.

Today again I paid
to learn, watching

refugees sit and wait
for their bus, and asked

the doctor what the term
really means–

she couldn’t say
exact qualifications,

just that for some
recognized reason,

a person had to leave
their homeland.

But, had a home.
And have a new home,

here, or housing at least,
much more than those

that exist in doorways,
or under the bridge

in tents that spring up
like mushrooms when it rains.

And how they also pay,
if not in money. Living

is costly. At some point
we all get priced out–

a roof, a room, a house,
a home. If you’ve got nothing

to trade, to leverage, to sell–
then it’s too late to live

on a farm, too late to dream,
what’s left is to work

in the fields
that someone else

can somehow afford
to own.

March 31

March 30, 2015
by C
comments 8
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Two shadows below:
One cast by the bridge

the other birds cast
as a net and settled

or as much as
any living thing

can be a shadow
and a shadow

diffusing like ink
nothing ever lasting

on water or lasting
ever it’s just easier

to see here a shadow
and a shadow

ebbing into
flight

March 29

March 29, 2015
by C
comments 10
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A return to the ground
to sow more seeds

prayers in a way
when they are grown

where will I be
thinking back

on this moment
on how far

we’ve both come
the soil is cool

and the morning birds
are not alarmed

now accustomed
to this custom

and oh today how
it felt like an ending

but roots I guess
do their best work

unseen.

March 27

March 27, 2015
by C
comments 3
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Today I did I silly thing,
and the answer I got was:

Here comes the sun.
It’s been a long cold

lonely winter.  And how.
And how of all people

could I be certain
of anything? And yet.

A dream of us so close
I felt it on my skin.

And the road back today
with all its lucky white horses.

I know the song and how
it ends: Here comes the sun,

here comes the sun, and I say
it’s all right, again, and again.