Rain, finally. As if home was returning from battle– the cold slick road engulfed correctly the familiar treachery of a high mountain pass– prodigal clouds come back as if visitors. Who knew this summer could actually end? A timely progression of seasons, how strangely normal. Still a headache from yesterday’s smoke, but seeing it, belief and then such relief despite white-knuckle driving for hours after
Too warm, but it smells of snow. Some car sound, as if an owl– hollow note. The night comes on like gratitude, always there, but sometimes staggering in effect. I get too wan, too brittle, my tongue too parched to say just how I treasure things, but it would be a mistake to doubt it– no, I’m no collector, but give me the moon like a pearl on velvet, some shinning look– I could write a book on […]
With light, a shadow, after the tide, an ebb– Nothing wholly itself, everything containing a trace of its own leaving. The yellow morning catches in the spider web’s sheer girder, an ode on capability, and a dirge for the inevitable– There is a chill now at dawn. Sometimes I don’t know what to say: It’s no joy to always consider all that is possible. The gothic ruin of these late October maples, a pang of […]
Funny how the fog appeared, from nothing, a haze that revealed itself as night fell, two gradients, both with a soft affect, dark streets not as hard floating under mist, the helipad guide lights dreamlike candy-colored orbs– although it could be that I am so tired that I love everything, indiscriminately, just for being. It’s a strange response– or strange reaction, or repercussion, or compensation, or reciprocation– That. That’s probably most apt.
OPTIONAL POETRY 